


The Perfect Man

by chase_acow



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpine the Cat, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Lonely Bucky Barnes, M/M, Magical Realism, Sam's family is awesome, also some organized crime, so many xmas tropes, temporary sad feelings before the happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/pseuds/chase_acow
Summary: The perfect man if what a person wanted was a three inch, chocolate, hanging ornament. Bucky twisted the box in his hands again, angling until he could read the words again.He’s sweet and decadently rich!Bucky snorted, he got by just fine, no need for riches he just wanted someone kind.Meet me under the mistletoe!He'd never tell anyone besides Natasha who had caught him in the act one year, but he loved those over the top holiday movies. He couldn't help wishing he'd end up in some ridiculous meet-cute and the hard work of finding someone wouldn't be his problem. He doubted it was in the cards for him, no one had even tried to set him up this year, they must have given up too.“Happy Saturnalia to us,” he said, kissing Alpine’s head and taking the cat with him to bed. “You’re an okay cat for company, but I wish I really could find the perfect man.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: Sambucky Bingo





	The Perfect Man

**Author's Note:**

> for the square "feeling lonely" in my Sam Bucky Bingo Card.
> 
> I admit, it's a little rushed, so if something glaringly stands out as wrong please let me know, otherwise know I tried my very best to inflict some holiday cheer on y'all.

Bucky dumped his messenger bag down in the hallway and took his first full breath of the day. The office holiday party had always felt like a minefield waiting to explode, but this year it had been _exhausting_ keeping his smile on. He’d contributed the forks, napkins, and plates to the potluck like he always did and then tried a little of all the amazing things the other guys and their wives brought. At least it meant he could just leave the bag in the hallway without worrying about dirty tupperware so he could shuffle into his living room to fall over the couch. For a day spent with more celebrating than working, he still felt completely drained.

Snow fell outside the window, picking up speed from the light flurries that had followed him home until it became a real snow storm. The rest of the world seemed decorated and ready for Christmas, he however, was not. His apartment was dark and bare, he’d forgotten to leave a light on for Alpine, and the cat continued to make his displeasure known, curled up on the highest branch of the cat tree where the heater blew directly on him. Figured, Bucky was an undateable grinch and even his cat didn’t want to cuddle. 

He normally enjoyed his apartment, but tonight the shadows seemed heavy, the silence a little too complete.

Sinking further into his mope, something started poking at the small of his back. He thought about just suffering through it, but in the end he wiggled until he managed to get his arms out of his coat and fish the little box out of the pocket before he tossed the heavy, slightly damp coat into the chair beside the couch. He'd put it up before he went to bed, no sense making everything smell like damp construction worker.

He turned the box around, his Secret Santa gift. He sighed heavily again, at least everyone else had gotten a kick out of it. Whoever had gotten it for him probably hadn’t meant it the way Bucky took it, but he couldn’t help it. The holidays always felt bittersweet and brought out his already highly efficient sulking abilities to new heights.

His parents had already left the family house in Shelbyville to go visit his sisters in their southern California neighborhood. They’d invited him of course, but the idea of travelling by himself with so many other people in a rush and dealing with the metal detectors left him in a cold sweat. It was a moot point anyway as he was on call over the next week and needed to be close by the sites just in case. Instead, he’d be spending his time alone with The Perfect Man.

The perfect man if what a person wanted was a three inch, chocolate, hanging ornament. Bucky twisted the box in his hands again, angling until he could read the words again. _He’s sweet and decadently rich!_ Bucky snorted, he got by just fine, no need for riches he just wanted someone kind. _Meet me under the mistletoe!_ He'd never tell anyone besides Natasha who had caught him in the act one year, but he loved those over the top holiday movies. He couldn't help wishing he'd end up in some ridiculous meet-cute and the hard work of finding someone wouldn't be his problem. He doubted it was in the cards for him, no one had even tried to set him up this year, they must have given up too.

Alpine landed heavily on his stomach earning a loud ‘ooof’ from Bucky as the cat circled, delicate little paws digging in like knives until he found the perfect place. The cat looked like a fluffy mound of snow, white fur perfectly groomed except for the little cowlick at the base of Alpine’s skull which refused to lay flat. Bucky tugged it playfully, earning a glare and a nip to his fingers until he started an approved petting motion. They'd been together since he'd found the kitten mewing from under a mostly crunched box.

“What do you think, huh?” Bucky asked, showing the disinterested cat the box. He bet it had been Jim who picked his name for secret santa. Dum Dum was always trying to get him to double date and he didn’t think anyone else would have the guts to call him out on his perpetual stag status. He answered what he imagined the cat would say, “Yeah, he’s not even smiling.”

Other than the serious look on his face, the perfect man certainly looked good, large muscles, nice face, the feet were kinda weird, but Bucky with his prosthetic arm couldn’t really throw stones. The Santa shorts were another strange choice, but Bucky closed his eyes and tried to imagine it, coming home to a partner who wanted to surprise him with a silly outfit that was somehow sexy despite how much they laughed over it. It was a nice daydream, but until he was ready to put himself out there, nothing would come of it.

“Are you tired, kitty?” he asked, moving his arm to support Alpine’s kitty butt as he rolled off the couch to his feet. They needed their rest if they were going to survive the busy delivery drivers, visiting kids running up and down the halls, and increasingly cheery music over the next several days. Again, he agreed with his cat who had impeccable taste, “Me too.”

As an afterthought, he took the chocolate ornament out of the box and hung it on his corkboard next to construction schedules and his take-out menus. It wasn't much, but at least he'd be able to tell Steve yeah, he'd hung up a decoration of two. The ornament looked a little silly, but Bucky's whimsy stirred up and he moved one of the new holiday menus over so it looked like it was frolicking through a winter wonderland with a line of shrimp dressed up with bow ties and top hats. Even if he didn't act like it, December had always been his favorite time of year.

“Happy Saturnalia to us,” he said, kissing Alpine’s head and taking the cat with him to bed. “You’re an okay cat for company, but I wish I really could find the perfect man.”

Bucky woke up the next morning to a crash and loud muttering. He rolled his eyes at Steve and turned to bury his face in the still cold part of his pillow before he remembered that Steve and Peggy left right after the party to catch their plane to London. His phone wasn’t charging on the nightstand and he grimaced; it was still in his coat pocket on the chair since he’d abandoned his normal nightly routine in order to sulk on the couch. There went the ability to call the police if it really was a break in.

There was more noise from the living room and when he looked down the hallway he could see multicolored lights reflecting off the white paint. Carefully, Bucky got out of bed, going to the closet for the bat he kept there just in case. He made it to his doorway when Alpine shot past, scooting under the bed. Well at least he was okay, whoever this intruder was, apparently cat murder was a step too far. Bucky could hold his own in a fair fight, but not knowing what was waiting for him in the living room was the worst part.

Bringing the bat up over his shoulder, Bucky crept down his hallway, stepping lightly on the balls of his feet. He got to the end and paused, trying to take a deep breath to settle his nerves. The war had been over for him for a long time, but the adrenaline shot was still familiar and stirred up a lot of reflexes. He whipped around the corner, brandishing the bat high only to freeze in disbelief.

The holidays had puked up all over his living room.

His meager supply of decorations were still boxed up, but even then, he only had a couple of things, not stuff from every single holiday of the season. He saw a Menorah, a nativity scene on a shelf of his bookcase, a paper garland of red, black, and green stretched across his patio windows, and there was even a five foot bare aluminum pole next to the television. However right smack in the middle of everything was the widest natural Fir tree he’d ever seen, though he didn’t know how it was still standing under the weight of so many strings of lights, lines of tinsel, glass and every other type of ornament.

The bat thudded against his wood floor with a dull noise as Bucky stood there his mouth open in shock.

“Oh, you’re up! Happy Holidays!”

“No,” the word lingered in Bucky’s mouth, a long, drawn out denial as his brain failed to process what was happening. Maybe it wasn’t happening, and this was all a dream. 

There was a large black man standing in the middle of the chaos, wearing only a Santa hat and a pair of fuzzy, tight red shorts. He held his arms out, clearly very pleased with what he’d managed to perpetuate on Bucky’s clean if boring apartment. Even Alpine’s cat tree had a string of multi-colored lights wrapped around it. It was barely dawn, but it was bright as full daylight in his apartment.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? Where did all this come from?” Bucky demanded, though he made sure to keep his voice low. It was a fairly nice building, but the walls still weren't soundproof. The last thing he needed was old Mrs. Wilson from next door knocking on his door trying to peek and see him with this gorgeous, shirtless bodybuilder trying to play house with him.

“You brought me here, remember?” the man said, walking to the mantle set over the TV to finish opening the doors of an advent calendar to get it caught up.

Of all things, it was the feet that did it. The man was perfect, muscular, beautiful skin, tall, but when Bucky looked down at his bare feet they were just the slightest bit off. They were as if the mold broke just the slightest bit at the bottom and they were too big, a little awkward as he moved. Bucky had clearly lost the last little bit of sanity he'd thought he still had going for him. There had been times before and after he'd been rescued and brought back stateside when his imagination had gotten the better of him, but this was flatly ridiculous. 

“You’re the chocolate ornament,” Bucky accused him, pointing as if it could have been anyone else. Hearing _Last Christmas_ on repeat at work had finally done it. He'd gone bonkers. He said the next bit as if it wasn’t what everyone wanted to be considered. “You’re the perfect man!”

“Yes I am,” the figment of Bucky’s imagination said proudly, putting both hands on his hips as he posed dramatically and a light display Bucky had easily overlooked among the chaos before lit up behind him highlighting his perfect nose. “It was dreary in here, so I thought I’d move some things in while you were asleep.”

“Asleep,” Bucky repeated, feeling his body gain the weight of all the excitement he’d been prepared for earlier. His adrenaline crashed and he knew he wasn't far behind. He was so tired of having to daydream for the life he wanted, even if this was the strangest most lucid one he’d had yet. “Yes, I’m asleep.”

He turned and walked back to his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. He rolled back into the now cold spot, too numb for his normal sigh of never having anybody in his bed, and pulled the covers over his head. A few minutes later Alpine jumped up, detouring to walk over his face before jumping up on his hip and settling there.

The doorbell chime woke him up later, and Bucky yawned feeling hungover. It was the first day of his vacation and he always slept in a little, but he glanced at the clock on his bedside table, he’d never slept in this late before, it was almost noon. The doorbell chimed again, longer this time as whoever was out in the hallway leaned on the button. Alpine too was at the door, jumping up to stretch against it and meowing his discontent to be prevented from running out and then back in for absolutely no reason a million times in a row.

Bucky furrowed his face at the door, he usually slept with it open for that exact reason, there was a litter box in the corner, but all Alpine’s food and water stayed in the kitchen.

That was when he remembered his fantasy visitor and the strange dream he’d had last night. Forgoing getting dressed, Bucky launched himself off the bed and pried the door open. It hadn’t been a dream. Even in the light of day, all the lights lit up the living room like Rockefeller Plaza, and if anything there were more hand made decorations strewn throughout. There were green and gold beads hanging off the ceiling fan, and even what looked like a Krampus statue centerpiece in the middle of his table.

The door bell chime blasted three short bursts that somehow sounded much angrier than the light tones should suggest. 

Bucky tripped over the baseball bat and crashed into the end table in a swearing mass of pain and confusion. He rolled up, trying to decide whether to clutch at his head or his shin in time to hear a brisk knock and a loud, “Police. Is everything okay in there?”

Up on his feet, hopping while he tried to decide if he’d broken any toes, he glared at his intruder. “Did you steal this stuff? And get rid of that right now, it’s poisonous to cats!” Bucky whispered furiously, gesturing at his handsome knock off Santa and the poinsettia he was fluffing over by the window.

“Actually, they’re only mildly toxic, and you’re little lover boy is way too smart to nibble on these petals, aren’t you?” the man said, trying and failing to butter up Alpine who laid his ears back in warning when the man tried to scratch his head. “And no, I did not steal anything. These are my things, I am decadently rich, you remember.”

“I don’t remember taking acid last night, but apparently I did,” Bucky muttered, finally deciding his toes were all accounted for and no matter how much his shin hurt, his head hurt more. He cupped his palm over his right eye and tried to glare extra hard with his left. “Just, stay out of the way, okay? Not a peep.”

Hobbling over to the door, Bucky jerked it open in time to flinch to the side in order to miss another solid knock to the head. 

“Sorry, man. I wasn’t sure you heard me, then there was that crash. I was worried maybe somebody hurt themself.”

Bucky stared. Mr. The Perfect Man was perfect, but the man standing in front of him now was superior in every way. He was black too, tall, less overtly muscled but solid through his broad shoulders and trim waist. He smiled showing a small gap between his front teeth and his beard was neatly trimmed around his mouth. Wearing a nice shirt, conservative jeans and leather jacket he was probably every mother's dream son-in-law. 

“Sir, can you hear me?” the smile had slowly fallen off the man’s face to be replaced by a look of concern.

“Um,” Bucky felt tongue tied, like he’d never said a word before in his life and even though he absolutely wanted to say, ‘Hi. Nice to meet you. My name’s Bucky. Are you single?’ he only managed another dry cough.

“Are you bleeding? If you fell, you might have a concussion, let me take a look,” the man reached for the inside pocket of his jacket, moving the leather enough for Bucky to see a holstered weapon and take a step back. “Easy. I’m Detective Samuel Wilson, NYPD. My nana lives next door. I just want to check you out.”

Bucky dearly wanted to be checked out, but he'd never thought it'd be like this. Wilson pulled out a small but powerful flashlight and tortured Bucky by pulling his hand down and shining it in either eye repeatedly. It was a good thing he was supposed to stare during these things, because he couldn’t take his eyes off the man. He just needed to keep getting around the flashlight, his attempts at which caused Wilson to stick the tip of his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration.

“Talk to me,” he said, abandoning his attempt to test Bucky’s pupil dilation so he could tenderly probe what was quickly becoming a goose egg on Bucky’s forehead. He had to reach up just the littlest bit, being slightly shorter. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky,” Bucky mumbled, trying not to lean into the very professional touch. Wilson’s hands were warm and dry, and didn’t hurt even though Bucky thought it probably should. He wondered if this was a continuation of the strangest dream he'd ever had.

“Okay, Bucky. Tell me what happened.”

“I tripped over the-” Bucky bit his tongue. He didn’t want to say baseball bat, didn’t want to explain why he’d had it out, didn’t want to explain the strange man wandering around his apartment spewing his holiday delight. Instead, he repeated lamely, “I tripped.”

“You been redecorating?” Sam asked rhetorically as he peered around Bucky and into his apartment. “Well, I guess this is one case closed.”

“What? Why?” Bucky felt his heart rate tick up about a million beats. All this stuff was stolen, and the hottest cop he ever met was going to take him to jail, and no one was in town to bail him out. Here he'd thought his vacation couldn’t get any worse. He should know by now that when it came to him, it could always get worse.

“Nana gave me a call this morning,” Sam said, wincing as two competing carols from somewhere in the depths of Bucky’s apartment starting blaring and the resulting combination was nothing anyone with taste would want to listen to. “Said someone decorated the place overnight, but she couldn’t figure out who. She wanted to make sure nothing was dangerous since the landlord had never done anything like this before.”

“Decorated?” Bucky repeated, barely managing to repress the urge to glare over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I thought it was a lot at first,” Wilson smiled again, and Bucky knew he hadn’t given it enough praise the first time around. That was a smile that could cure cancer and make the crops grow. “But now that I’ve seen what you’ve done to your place, I see you were actually being reserved with the outside and hallway decorations.”

 _Oh, no,_ Bucky thought, pushing past the detective to look down the hallway. There was tinsel and paper cutouts for all the holidays he could remember stretching all the way down to the elevator. “You said it was outside too?” he asked, voice soft as he tried not to black out from either the pain in his head or the fear the landlord would kick him out over this. He'd gotten so lucky with this place, he'd never be able to find somewhere as affordable and close to work.

“Yeah,” Wilson frowned again, reaching out to grab Bucky’s arm to help him balance as he started to wobble. His other hand landed on Bucky’s side which was when he realized he hadn’t put on a shirt and was standing in the hallway wearing the novelty sleep pants Gabe had gotten him last year with Betty Boop all over them. “You saying you didn’t do it?”

“Um,” Bucky’s brain misfired. Worse than the pants, he knew Sam had also been looking at all his scars and this metal arm. He’d missed the chance to just take credit for this fiasco and escape back to his apartment to slowly suffocate himself in tinsel. He was an idiot.

“Sure he did, and I helped supervise. Is there a problem?”

Bucky resisted the urge to facepalm, but only because it would hurt so much at this point. His uninvited guest had pulled the door completely open and was standing there with way too much skin on display. Thankfully except for his feet, which he had halfway managed to squish into Bucky’s fuzzy house shoes. Wilson’s body language changed completely, closing up in an instant as he took a step away and crossed his well shaped arms over his chest. Bucky missed the the closeness.

“I’m sorry, sirs,” he said, voice cold and distant. “I didn’t mean to interrupt while you had _company_.”

“What? No. No, no, no,” Bucky slipped between them and tried to push the weird chocolate Santa man back behind a closed door. “He’s not company. _Believe_ me, he’s not company.”

If anything Wilson looked more pissed, a death glare focused right on Bucky.

“Bucky, I’m hurt,” the man said, a pleasant low rumble of laughter bubbled up through his chest. “Here I come, all this way to spend the holiday in New York with my favorite old college roommate, and I’m not company?”

Wilson seemed to change his mind about wanting Bucky to spontaneously catch fire, but he was still suspicious, clearly taking in both their half dressed states. Then he focused in on Bucky’s injuries and turned the glare on not!Santa. “Roommates, huh?” he asked, pulling the tail of his shirt up to show off his badge and make sure they both remembered he was a cop. “I’m Sam. Sam Wilson NYPD.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Not!Santa reached right over Bucky’s shoulder to shake hands with Sam.

Sam shook it, and raised both eyebrows, clearly expecting the other, what he thought was a man, to introduce himself. His eyes darted back and forth between them and the moment stretched so far past acceptable that Bucky knew he’d end up with awkward burn. Sam shrugged and turned to leave.

“This is Bob!” he finally yelled when Sam had made it three steps away toward Mrs. Wilson’s door. He knew that if he let Sam get any farther away he’d never see him again. He followed Sam into the hallway again, admitting that it did look a lot more cheerful with the colorful additions to the drab gray paint. He gestured back to his door, “Bob, uh, Johnson, my old roommate from Indiana.”

‘Bob’ waved.

Sam nodded back, clearly still suspicious, but sighed and managed a smile for Bucky. “All right, thanks for decorating the place,” he said, reaching out to trace a Star of David. “Nana was so happy to see it was multicultural. She’s been having a rough year, and I think this really made a difference. Watch out for the fire codes next time.”

“Yes, of course,” Bucky agreed. He would have agreed to nearly anything at that point if he thought Sam wanted him to.

“Hey look! Mistletoe!” Bob called out, pointing above their heads.

Bucky and Sam looked up at the same time to spot the mistletoe Bucky would have sworn wasn’t there a moment ago. He jumped back, crashing into the wall and looked in horrified embarrassment at Sam. “Um, I don’t, I haven’t-” he stuttered, brain malfunctioning on what he wanted to say. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, though his eyes seemed to go soft on Bucky’s extreme nervousness. “I’m on duty anyway. PDA is frowned upon.”

Sidestepping out from under the cursed weed, Sam held out his hand, using a good grip when Bucky took it. “It was nice to meet you,” he said, and then called a little louder when Bob cleared in throat in an obviously manufactured way. “You both. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

Sam disappeared into Mrs. Wilson’s apartment, and Bucky wondered what it would take for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“All right, who are you and what do you really want?” Bucky demanded, marching into his kitchen and jabbing the coffee maker buttons a little harder than necessary. His mug wasn’t where he left it, yet another thing contributing to his spike in blood pressure. He hadn't shared a space with anyone since he'd moved out of Steve's place, and despite the loneliness, he liked knowing where everything was at all times.

“Bob, apparently,” Bob said shrugging, he turned on the train set taking up space on the kitchen island, the little black engine chugged hard working down the track and took the turn before coming to a stop at the station closest to Bucky. “You couldn’t have come up with something better? Sometimes I feel like a Lorenzo, you know. I never get to be Lorenzo.”

“I panicked, it was the first thing I thought of,” Bucky said, turning despite himself to look at this abomination that had taken over his morning reading area. The train set was well made, the whole island done up to look like a small town, snowy and ready to celebrate. That was when he noticed the train actually had been carrying precious cargo. A new mug sat on the flat bed of one of the cars, proudly announcing it was ‘A Cup of F*cking Cheer’.

“Christ,” Bucky cursed, yanking the cup around and down in time to replace the pot directly under the stream of coffee. He wasn’t quite to the point of trying to drink boiling coffee, but he jerked the mug out half full and replaced the pot for the rest. He added creamer and set it down to wait. “But what are you doing here?”

“Like I said before, you brought me here, Bucky,” Bob said, adjusting the Santa hat so it had a rakish tilt to the side. “I’m here to help. Also, I didn’t really have any other plans.”

Bucky tried hard to remember again if anyone had spiked the punch bowl last night with psychedelic mushrooms or something. Then again Sam had seen Bob. Then again again, maybe Sam was a figment of his imagination too. that was the most depressing thought of them all. But no, he hadn’t had any punch, not after the great Printer/Scanner/Copier Incident of 2018. If this wasn’t real, it was because he’d finally just cracked all on his own.

“You’re not crazy,” Bob assured him, reassuring him not at all. “I’m a magically enhanced chocolate ornament here because you asked for help and despite everything you still believe in the magic of the season. Step One: decorate this tragic little Grinch apartment. Step Two: find you the perfect man. Step Three-”

“Wait, did you have something to do with Sam?” Bucky asked, trying for a sip of his coffee. It was still too hot to be comfortable, but more importantly it was barely enough to be drinkable, so he swallowed it all, hoping the caffeine would hit him quick. He was starting to understand what was happening here, and he wasn't sure if that was a good sign. “Did you. . . make him too?”

“Of course not,” Bob scoffed, sending the train going around again, except that when it emerged on the other side of the small table, the empty train cars were piled high with bacon, french toast, and a jar of warm syrup. “I mean, I’m good, but I’m not Santa.”

“Not Santa,” Bucky repeated, listening to his empty stomach grumble as the smell of that delicious food hit his nose. Sure he could assume the calories were also imaginary, and who was going to tell him otherwise. “Okay, so Sam’s for real?”

“Absolutely,” Bob agreed, standing to reach for one of Bucky’s few plates to start heaping it with food. “I just used a little push to get Mrs. Wilson to call him over today.”

“What did you do?” Bucky asked, grabbing the other plate for the rest of the food on the train cars. He pulled open a drawer and got a fork he passed over for Bob, who looked at it strangely for a moment, and then grinned, digging into the french toast.

“I used blue and white lights outside, decorating the way Mr. Wilson used to do up their house when they were young. I knew she’d want to know who did it, and she’d call her favorite grandson in,” Bob said, smearing the syrup over everything as he forked bacon and toast together into his mouth. “You didn’t do too bad, but we’ve got to work on your moves if you want to convince a man like that to date you.”

“Can’t you just snap your fingers or something?” Bucky asked, embarrassed again at everything he’d done wrong. That had to be one of the worst first impressions he’d ever made. There was no way Sam would remember him as anything besides that weirdo who lived next door to his nana.

“Of course not!” Bob looked outraged, angry at the suggestion. “I’m not going to force someone to fall in love with you!”

“No! I meant. Can’t you fix me?” Bucky hurried to explain, apparently now going all in on the idea of a magical chocolate man here to find him a date for the holidays. If anyone could do it, it had to be Bob. This was the miracle he'd been waiting for, something to get his life right. “Just snap your fingers and like, make me prince charming, or something? Or at least less me.”

“Oh. Oh, Bucky, there’s nothing to fix. You just need a little encouragement. Maybe a little push or two.”

Bucky snorted. He couldn’t wait to tell Steve all about this. “I haven’t gone on a date in years. I get tongue tied, fall on my face,” he gestured up to the bump on his head, which was the most obvious outward sign of his struggle to meet anyone new and keep them from running away. The guys at work didn’t count, he was pretty sure Steve had smoothed over the rough patches when he’d first joined the Howling Construction Crew after he got out of his physical therapy. “I’m scarred and ugly. My arm scares people.”

“Sam didn’t seem to mind your arm,” Bob reminded him, eyebrows waggling in a way he probably thought meant he was being suggestive but only looked silly.

“Yeah, I guess,” Bucky thought back, trying to remember if Sam had seemed to avoid looking at it. He didn’t think so, but there’d been plenty of other things taking up his attention at the time. He was a cop. Bucky snapped his fingers. “It’s because he’s a cop. He’s probably seen a lot of worse things, and he was too polite to ask about it. But if he sees it for work all the time, why would he want to come home and deal with this?”

He was being careful to keep his left hand and arm away from his plate. While he had the tools and materials to clean it, syrup was and always would be a bitch to clean off from the small grooves and bends in his fingers. He was glad to have the arm after his time in captivity, couldn’t believe his good luck in being accepted into the program, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel every extra bit of weight attached to him because of it.

“You’re also a pessimist,” Bob said, cleaning his plate and standing to put it in the dishwasher. “We’ll work on that too.”

“So what _is_ the plan?” Bucky asked. This all might be happening a little faster than what he was used to, but Bob was right. He did believe in the magic of the season, and if somehow he’d gained the attention of someone who could actually help him, he wasn’t about to turn his nose up at it.

“Research,” Bob said, snapping his fingers so the television snapped on in the living room showing the title screen to something called _A Gingerbread Romance_ on one of the holiday channels. “It’s been a while since I had one of these type cases.”

He’d never admit it, but Bucky loved watching the ridiculous made for tv movies that avalanched down the channels at the beginning of November. He just didn’t like to watch them alone, and since Natasha had moved out of the city he hadn’t had anyone to watch them with except for the couple of times he’d crashed Steve and Peggy’s date night. Spending the day with Bob catching up on them sounded like a day well spent after that nightmare of a meeting with Detective Sam Wilson. He could just relax and let tomorrow take care of itself.

“Uppsy daisy, eggs and bacony!”

Bucky blinked awake, feeling excited for once. Alpine had curled up on the pillow, kneading into Bucky’s head and reminding him it was time to clip those nails. There was a soft piano album playing on the speakers and just as promised, the sizzling smell of fresh bacon carried in from the kitchen. Rolling off the bed, Bucky shoved his feet in his liberated house shoes and pulled a robe on, unwilling to be caught without his clothes again just in case.

“Good morning, Bob,” he greeted, sliding onto the stool at the train station kitchen island.

“Morning, you feel like going out today?” Bob asked, handing Bucky his plate and coffee. “Hurry up and then go change so we can get there on time.”

“Where we going?” Bucky asked, shifting the egg scramble into his cheek so he could get the question out. The eggs were perfect, creamy mixed with tomatoes, peppers, and cheese. If he kept eating this well, he might actually manage to gain some of the weight back that Steve was always so concerned about. He’d forgotten breakfast could taste so good when he’d just gotten used to cold cereal and plain oatmeal. Maybe he’d try to cook dinner for Bob and see if he still remembered how to do it.

“Secret,” Bob answered.

“Okay, but you are going to change too, right?” Bucky asked stuffing the last piece of bacon in his mouth. It turned out to be slightly less weird than he expected lounging on the couch yesterday with a giant half dressed stranger, but he was not about to try to walk through the streets of New York with him like that. Bucky wouldn’t be able to take all that attention, even if it wouldn’t necessarily be all bad attention.

“You not enjoying this fine Santa booty?” Bob asked, tugging on the strip of white fuzz at his waistband. He seemed to consider it for a moment and then shrugged and nodded. “You’re probably right, go get changed and I’ll meet you out here.”

“Do you need to borrow something?” Bucky asked slowly wondering why Bob didn’t just snap his fingers the way he had before when he needed to create something.

“Do you have something you think would fit me?” Bob answered with a knowing grin and then shook his head. “I’ll manage. Go ahead and take a shower if you want.”

Bucky thought about it, but they were just going to wander around for a while, maybe do some shopping, maybe watch a street show or something. He decided he’d wear layers after he pulled on his insulated canvas pants and threw on a long sleeve t-shirt, one of the company t-shirts and a flannel before he pulled a hoodie over his head. His hair maybe looked a little greasy, so he scraped it back into a low ponytail that he could mostly hide in his hood. All he’d need to do was shove his feet in his boots at the door and he’d be ready to go.

He dropped his wallet in his front pocket and emerged into the living room only to find Bob standing there looking amazing in a three piece suit with his Santa hat still firmly on his head. Bucky slumped down realizing he really should have just taken Bob’s suggestion and turned around to try again. 

He took his time showering, enjoying the heat and the steam of the bathroom instead of jumping in and back out as fast as possible. He took more care working his therapy oil into his scarring. Shaving had never been something he enjoyed, but he managed to get through it, not going completely clean, but looking less like he also slept at their construction sites. He squirted some hair product in his one hand and tried to make sure he got full coverage this time, not like when he showed up to a bid meeting with half his hair behaving and the other half wavy and fluffy.

Picking clothes wasn’t hard. Gabe loved dragging Bucky along on shopping trips and usually managed to talk him into buying something nice. He just didn’t really ever wear them anywhere. He wiggled into a tight pair of dark jeans, lamenting the loss of his insulation, wherever they were going had better have heaters scattered around. He put on one of his nicer black t-shirts and a soft blue sweater over that. Coat, scarf, and shoes and they were out the door.

“Oh, hey,” Bob said, stopping suddenly in the middle of the hallway while patting his pockets. “I left my gloves inside, can I have your keys?”

“Now you need the keys to break in all of a sudden?” Bucky teased, though he still tossed them over. “Make sure you get the deadbolt locked back. Alpine can jump up and hook the handle in his paws and open it otherwise. I’ll meet you outside.”

He’d found out the hard way about the cat’s escape skills. The door was heavy enough that it would shut behind Alpine, leaving him stranded in the hallway even if he were interested in getting back inside. He’d been gone for a week once before Bucky found him at the front door to the apartment building sleeping on the doormat when he came home. That was the last time he ever wanted to feel that way and started double checking the deadbolt when he left for work.

Even the elevator hadn’t escaped Bob’s decorating and little bits of stringed tinsel wafted with him down to the ground floor. Outside, lights twisted around the bushes and stretched across the building, though like Bob said, he seemed to have stuck to blue and white and lines that made sense. People stopped as they walked by, pointing at the roof and some of them took a picture before they continued on. Curious, Bucky walked out to the sidewalk and looked up. There on the roof was a typical set up of reindeer and sleigh, but instead of a fat, old, white man, there was a younger, much hotter black Santa waving.

Bucky blinked, but knowing where it came from, it made sense, and people seemed happy.

“All right, here we go,” Bob said, pulling the gloves on as he joined Bucky on the sidewalk to enjoy his handiwork. He’d even managed to magic up giant shoes to hide his feet. With one hand on Bucky’s good shoulder, he steered them into the crowd and down the street.

“You gonna tell me where we’re going now?” Bucky asked, weaving around people who were actually looking at him today. They were looking and cautiously smiling at him, only to smile wider and nod back when he greeted them.

“Christmas market,” Bob answered, tipping his hat to many of the people who were making a big deal of giving him a wide berth.

“Oh, the one a couple of streets over?” Bucky asked, slowing down to walk closer to Bob so people would stop sucking so much. He’d always meant to go by and check that market out, but it was hard to get motivated to go do things like that on his own.

“No, I thought we’d go to the one over in Harlem,” Bob smiled at Bucky’s face and snapped his fingers, instantly transporting them across the city. Bucky stumbled slightly but Bob caught him by the elbow pulling him along before he was trampled by shoppers. “There, now don’t pout, I know better than to put you in an enclosed space with all those strangers.”

“I should never have doubted you,” Bucky said, craning his head around to try to see everything at once. Greenery crisscrossed the street with lit up wreaths on every street light. Someone had gone around to all the shop windows and painted them all to match, a winter scene that invited people to stop and take pictures with the backdrop. There were carolers at one street corner harmonizing on some jazzy cover of _Do You Hear What I Hear?_. The street was closed off to cars and full of vendors, including some rather heavenly smelling food trucks.

Bob smiled indulgently as Bucky ping ponged them from one menu to another, trying this or that. They did stop next to a portable heater, which Bucky backed up against to warm his frozen ass. A troupe of teenage elves skipped through the crowds telling the worst holiday jokes Bucky had ever heard as they asked for donations for the local youth community group. They surrounded him at one point, belting out a version of _Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer_ that sounded more like a dirge until he tossed a twenty in their donation pail to get them to go away. He laughed with them and waved, wishing their next victim luck.

When they finally reached the actual market, Bucky couldn’t have been happier to have a magic chocolate man able to whisk him across large distances without even a belly ache. There were arts and crafts booths, food and drink stalls, two separate stages far enough away the performers didn’t need to compete against each other for listeners, and in the middle was a giant set up on a North Pole playground set and in the middle of that was a throne set up on a pedestal where Santa sat with elves helping children run up to sit on his lap to ask for their heart’s desires.

Everyone was so happy. The food still smelled amazing no matter how much he shoved in his face. Everywhere Bucky looked was something interesting to see, families, performers, there was an ice sculpting demonstration, and even cartoons on a screen outside the playpen area set up for the smaller children to run free to get some energy out. And there were children running wild everywhere. Bucky felt a pang missing his sisters and their kids, maybe he could make the time to drive out and visit them soon.

He and Bob started on one edge and worked their way around, taking their time to see and try everything. It was just as magical as he'd ever hoped it would be, and being around so many people having fun and enjoying each others' company was contagious. Nobody was afraid of Bob here, though he didn't seem to notice that either. If anything Bucky was the one who stuck out, and yet everyone was friendly. He didn't know how long they'd been there when they'd ambled all the way around to the middle platform.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky turned, a smile taking over his face before he could think twice about it. Sam Wilson stood there, still looking amazing and holding out his hand for Bucky to shake. Bob had disappeared again, and Bucky didn’t know whether to try to wish him back again or not. There was no denying he was a pretty big distraction, but Bucky was also worried about saying something stupid with no one to stop him.

“Hi, Sam,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand and glad he hadn’t stopped to put his glove back on his good hand and miss the skin to skin contact. Sam smiled again, glancing down, and Bucky realized he’d held on just a tad too long. “What brings you out around here?”

“Brought the kids to see Santa,” Sam said, gesturing over to a couple of cute munchkins playing on the climbing bars on this side of the playground. “Plus there’s a fundraising booth over there for my dad’s old church. I like to go by and check things out.”

“You’re kids are adorable,” Bucky said, trying not to let his heartbreak leak out. Of course Sam was taken. How on earth would the women of New York City let a specimen like that stay single for long? He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. “Is your wife around?”

“Oh no, they’re not mine,” Sam both shook his head and held his hands out in the stop motion. He grinned and shrugged a single shoulder with pride. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love them, but I’m the fun gay uncle. I’m good for about a weekend before they gots to go back to their mama.”

“Oh, yeah, me too!” Bucky could feel the weight lift off him. Sam wasn’t some sort of flirty married man. He even didn’t mind proclaiming his gayness, while Bucky was still working on being comfortable enough to do that first. “I mean, I’m the gay uncle. I don’t know how fun I am, but they’ll still small enough to tolerate me for a while.”

“I’ll bet you’re plenty fun,” Sam said, reaching out slowly to tug the edge of Bucky’s jacket. When he didn’t move away, Sam even ran his fingers across the sweater covering Bucky’s chest. “This is nice too. I liked the shirtless look from yesterday, but what is this made out of, it’s so soft? Brings out those baby blues of yours.”

Sam liked him. Sam wanted to flirt with him. Sam, the most gorgeous man he’d ever met in his entire life touched him. He needed to say something cool. Needed to do something to show he liked it, that he liked Sam too. Bucky stood there staring, desperately trying to come up with something. Despite the cold, sweat broke out across his forehead he was so nervous and even though it was a normal New York City winter day, he wanted to shrug out of his coat and try to breathe.

“Still working on that concussion I see,” Sam said, his calm voice snapping Bucky out of his shrinking circle of panic driven freak out.

“I- Sorry, I’m not real great at this,” Bucky said, sighing and opposite of what he wanted, pulled his coat tighter around himself. It always took him too long to get comfortable with new people and by the time that happened they’d already written him off as staring creeper. He wished Steve was there with him. Steve had a way with people, though sometimes it was simply a way to annoy people.

“You don’t say,” Sam said, teasing if the small smile meant anything. He turned back to put his attention on the kids, giving Bucky some room to figure things out. “Good thing it’s pretty endearing.”

Where before he would have taken that space and run a mile, he found he didn't want it now. Bucky turned too, watching the kids Sam had pointed out earlier completely run themselves ragged, climbing and jumping and falling before getting up to do it all over again. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to wince but not draw blood and then shifted over the slightest bit so his arm pressed against Sam’s. It wasn’t much. It was what he could do.

“See you are a charmer,” Sam twisted his head and smiled, pushing into the contact.

“Hi guys, I brought you some hot chocolate.”

He didn’t know whether or not to be thankful for the distraction, but Bucky had just about run out of ability to pretend his maturity level approached that of any other reasonable man around his age. They turned, and he definitely missed the little bit of extra warmth that bled through Sam’s coat where they’d touched. Bob smiled at him and handed him a cup with a badly drawn penguin on the side. Or maybe it was a dinosaur, he couldn't really tell.

“Hey man, good to see you again,” Sam said, taking the cup Bob offered him, decorated with a mutant Rudolph that glowed red through his nose, eyes, and all seven antler points. He held it up to his nose and a made a sound that Bucky would love to hear in his bedroom. “Ah man, Mrs. Fields’ salted caramel. It’s my favorite.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly taking a sip from his own cup, still fascinated with the look of bliss on Sam’s face. Of course the temperature was perfect, but it tasted as good as Sam had advertised, salty and sweet.

“Didn’t you get one?” Sam asked, though he clutched his own cup with both hands, probably in case Bob had any terrible ideas about trying to take it back.

“No, I don’t partake myself,” Bob shook his head and then winked at Bucky. “Cannibalism you know.”

Bucky stared in horror as Bob just kept staring and no one said anything about the really weird thing that just happened. A noise escaped his throat, and not knowing what else to do, he tried desperately to turn it into a laugh. It probably sound more like a bird trying to hack up a lung, but a second later Sam joined him, adding an actual laugh that sounded human and warm and amused.

“You got me man,” Sam said, eyes still crinkled. “But you right. You are one fine piece of chocolate.”

A flicker of jealousy stirred in his gut, but Bucky pushed it away. Bob wasn’t here for himself, and he’d been doing everything possible to help Bucky actually have a chance to make a good impression. If Sam wanted Bob instead then that wasn't anybody's fault. But it was no wonder Bob had made sure Bucky would actually put effort into how he looked today, and he felt good, not like he had to slink along taking up as little space as possible. He’d have to look in his closet to see what else he’d been overlooking in order to be as ignored as possible.

“This is a beautiful place,” Bob said, turning his attention to the rest of the market while Bucky cleared his throat and took a deep breath at the near miss. “Nothing like this from where I came from.”

“Yeah? Where is that?” 

Bucky cringed waiting for another impossible answer from his impossible friend that he’d have to find a way to play off as a joke. He realized he had no idea where Bob came from, the North Pole, a snow globe like the movie from yesterday, the packing warehouse where the small chocolate ornaments were made? Any of those answers would tip the scale from Sam being curious to Sam investigating this as an officer of the law.

Not that Bob would actually fit in any jurisdiction known to man.

Luckily they were interrupted by Sam’s niece and nephew running around the gate to the play area and attaching themselves like little monsters to his legs.

“Hey, guys!” Sam yelled, covering both their heads with his hands. The boy was probably a little older, being a little taller than the girl, though they both had their hair buzzed short and they had that close look of siblings. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, did you see me do the three-sixty?”

“I played with this other little girl and she wanted to be Rey, so I pretended to be Luke.”

“And I barely landed on my feet, so I swung around like this-”

“Then we had a sword fight-”

“Are you watching?”

“Hey, listen to me!”

Sam exchanged a quick glance with Bucky, but he didn’t look annoyed and Bucky lost another bit of his heart for the patience of this man. “Guys, chill out for a second. I saw you sweetheart. You had excellent form and you’ll make a great teacher someday if that’s what you still want to do,” Sam said talking to the little girl before he shifted his attention to the little boy. “And yes, I was watching. I totally thought you were going to puke too, but you did go really high.”

The kids, mollified that they were actually still the center of their fun uncle’s world took a breath and turned their attention to Bob and Bucky. Bob actually held most their attention, as their heads had to tip back and their eyes widened trying to see all of his very tall body. The little girl shuffled a bit, ending up hiding halfway behind Sam’s leg.

“Guys I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine. This is Bob and Bucky,” Sam pointed to them and gently steered the girl back out in front of him, but she didn’t really seem to mind, still staring up at Bob in fascination. “Other guys, these little monsters are Jim and Jody, my niece and nephew.”

“Hello,” Bob said, his voice somehow felt deeper than even before and both kids leaned forward as he bent at the waist to get closer to them. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Sam, my feet hurt, can you hold me?” Jody asked twisting her arms around to the side while she kept her eye on Bob.

“Sure, baby,” Sam agreed, hitching her up easily on his arm where she immediately leaned away from him, tapping Bob’s arm.

“I’m tired too, hold me!” Jim demanding as he held up his arms to Bucky, slapping him in the stomach in a bid for attention. He jumped up and down not acting very tired at all as Bucky just looked down at him bewildered.

“Jim!” Sam scolded, trying to move Jody more securely on his hip when he reached to try to separate him from Bucky.

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky said, watching Jim’s face fall. He didn’t really know if it was okay, but he was willing to try. His sister’s kids never asked him to hold them, they were a lot more shy than that. “I mean if it’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” Sam said, straightening up with only a slight grimace as Jody clutched his jacket for extra leverage to get an extra inch closer to Bob. “But be aware he somehow folds the laws of gravity and gains about three times his own weight when you’ve held him for more than a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Bucky said as Jim started jumping up and down again. Clearly he wasn’t actually tired, he just wanted to be held when his sister was. Bucky remembered the feeling from when he’d been the oldest needing to take care of himself while the girls still got babied. “Get up here.”

Bucky started off picking Jim up under his arms, but quickly moved him to his right side, getting his forearm under the boy’s butt and holding on to his shin in case he started doing an acrobat show again. It wasn’t so bad, Bucky had to keep up an intense workout to keep the balance set across his shoulders. It helped at the construction sites, but if he wanted to keep his metal arm, he needed it to work with him, not against.

“Hey, what was that noise?” Jim asked, leaning wobbly across Bucky’s body to poke at his left arm. He cocked his head and grabbed the covered metal again, clearly feeling that it wasn’t like any normal arm that had picked him up before. “What is that?”

There were metal plates that could slightly rearrange themselves given a motion Bucky needed to make or if he needed the extra power to hold or push an object. Much to his mortification one day, he found out significant emotional reaction could also trigger the automotive response. None of them had expected the first twenty minutes of _Up_ to affect him so much, but his arm wouldn’t calm down until Kevin showed up in all her lovely plumage. He was so used to it, he barely noticed the noise, but apparently Jim had sharper ears.

“ _Jim Morrison Wilson-Casper_ you know better than that,” Sam actually sounded mad this time and that more than the boy’s innocent question caused Bucky to take a step back, clutching the boy when he wobbled again trying to lift up the bottom of Bucky’s sleeve. “I _will_ tell your mama you were rude to my friend.”

Jim apparently knew exactly what that meant as his face immediately scrunched and his lip started to flutter. “I didn’t mean to be. I swear! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he babbled, leaning heavily into Bucky as if he were afraid Sam was going to snatch him right then and frog march him home for a punishment.

“I understand,” Bucky said softly, desperate not to be the reason a beautiful day was ruined. More than that, he found he didn’t actually mind. Children couldn’t help being curious about new things, he was just worried about the part that came next. “I don’t think you were trying to be rude. It is a weird noise.”

Sam was watching them closely, probably ready to jump in if he felt he needed to. Jody on the other hand was busy trying to catch the puffy ball at the end of Bob’s Santa hat while he swung it around playing keep away. Nobody else seemed to take any notice of the little drama unfolding in the group.

“Do you want to see my hand?” Bucky asked, the first time he’d offered to anyone, though plenty of people had seen it otherwise. Jim sniffed and nodded after looking back at Sam for permission which was given. “Okay, it’s not like everyone else’s hand. If you want me to put the glove back on or put you down, just say so.”

“Okay, but I’m not scared,” Jim said, rebounding from his near melt down with speed that would have given Bucky whiplash.

Bucky brought his hand up to his mouth, using his teeth to tug the fingers loose before he bit harder and slipped the whole glove off. He put it in his pocket so he wouldn’t lose it and then brought his hand closer to Jim so he could see it better. The metal was shiny on the first layer, covering the mechanics that made it work like nearly every other arm. He bent his fingers, the articulating joints shifted to accommodate the movements. The pads of his fingers had some sensors to help him in delicate tasks, but on the whole, he couldn’t really feel much of anything. Sometimes his brain tricked him with phantom sensations, but not in any reliable way.

“Wow,” Jim said drawing out the word while he stared at Bucky’s hand in open mouthed wonder. He reached out slowly and grabbed Bucky’s two smallest fingers in his fist drawing the hand closer to him so he could manipulate the fingers. “Does it work just like a real arm?”

“That is his real arm, Jim,” Sam coached, standing a little closer to both of them, though whether it was because he wanted to see better or to have a better angle to slap his hand over Jim’s mouth in case of awkward kid questions was anybody’s guess.

“It works all right,” Bucky answered, keeping his head down to watch his hand. “It’s heavier, it’s stronger, but it can’t feel things the way you do. I have to be careful picking up hot things, or small things. I have to be careful to keep it clean and not get it sticky.”

“That’s so-” 

Bucky winced, preparing for any number of words to tumble out of Jim’s mouth. He’d heard so many permutations when he was still getting used to being back and not so great at being unobtrusive. Very few of them had been pleasant. _Unnatural_. _Wierd_. _Gross_. There had even been one guy who’d been too interested in it and whether or not Bucky would have to wear gloves while fingering him open or if he could put lube directly on his robot hand. Bucky had run fast from that one.

“Cool!” Jim finished, trying to jump up and down again, though only succeeding in nearly bouncing out of Bucky’s hold. He pushed the sleeve down around Bucky’s wrist, examining the rotating motion there. “Where’d you get it?”

Sam’s sharp focus now aimed at Bucky, and he also nearly felt the urge to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. His jaw twitched and he realized he’d been grinding his teeth waiting for the other shoe to fall. “I was in the military,” Bucky said, his voice was barely loud enough to carry to Sam, but Jim didn’t seem to notice. “I had an accident, but they took care of me and gave me a new arm.”

It wasn’t anywhere close to the truth. He’d been a prisoner of war, his government had given up on him, and he’d given up on himself. It was Natasha that brought him to Tony Stark’s attention when he started live trials of his prosthetic arms. It was good enough for the little boy in his arms though, and Sam wouldn’t thank him for going into any further detail. Jim didn’t seem to actually care, now folding Bucky’s fingers and pretending it was an airplane.

“Sam, is it time to see Santa yet?” Jody asked, curling into Sam’s body, finished trying to grab Bob’s hat and ready for the real thing. Or at least the realest thing they could get.

Sam’s face transformed again, but this time he was clearly upset. He glanced up and over his shoulder at a large electronic scoreboard someone had set up near Santa’s chair. The digital red numbers proclaimed 2-1-4. He sighed and brushed his hand over his short cropped hair. “I don’t know that we’re going to have time right now,” he said, grimacing as both kids let their smiles fall. “We’ve got number three twenty-seven and I have to get you home so I can go back to work soon.”

The kids didn’t cry or fuss, but Jim did wiggle hard enough that Bucky let him slide to the ground where he walked over to Sam’s leg and leaned heavily against it. It was clearly more heartbreaking than if they’d started a tantrum. Bucky looked over at Bob with his eyebrows raised, hoping he’d step in with a solution because what was the point of being magical if he couldn’t save a trip to see Santa? Bob smiled and reached in his pocket.

“Maybe I can help,” Bob said holding out a slip of paper to Sam. “I picked this up when we first got here, but I didn’t know what it was for.”

“Two nineteen,” Sam read, another wide smile making a home on his face. “Hey thanks man, you saved us.”

The kids cheered, immediately pulling and pushing Sam to get him moving in the direction of the line forming to visit Santa Claus. He dug in his heels, letting Jody down so she could take Jim’s hand as they tried to get him to move faster. “Thanks, man,” he said, holding out a fist to bump with Bob. “You really saved my bacon, but we’d better go get in line and then we’ll have to head home after. It’s been nice seeing you again.”

He’d turned to Bucky for the last, winking as he finished bumping fists with Bob and held out his hand to Bucky who took it, and like the kids, didn’t want to let it go. “Yeah,” Bucky said, forcing a smile. All he really wanted to do was follow Sam around for the rest of his life. That was ridiculous. It was getting all the more clear that Sam deserved someone much more put together than Bucky. He needed to let this go before he got hurt even more imagining some perfect life with the perfect man. Clearing his throat, he nodded over to Santa, “I hope you all get everything you ask for.”

It was clearly a goodbye and Sam scrunched his forehead in confusion, but finally allowed the kids to tug him away. Bucky watched them go, but started walking away before they got to the line and had a chance to look back. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to go so easily if he caught even one more look at Sam's eyes. Bob fell in beside him, following as Bucky led them to the exit and started walking blindly down the street, no idea where he was headed or even which direction they were pointed.

“So,” Bob said, snapping his fingers to transport them back to the familiar sidewalk in front of Bucky's apartment. “You didn’t ask for his number, did you?”

Bucky glared, yanking the door open with more anger than he’d felt in a while, and most of it churning away at his gut, unfocused and unwanted. This had been a terrible mistake. He should have shooed Bob away that first morning, it was all well and good to wish for a miracle, but he couldn't mess up other people's lives. He was a fuck up, and Sam didn't deserve to have to deal with that just because some magical chocolate man said so. He walked to the elevator, stabbing the button repeatedly until the doors finally opened with a whoosh. There at the back of the elevator was a flyer for a found cat.

‘Fluffy white cat with blue eyes. Sweet kitty. Come see 912 if you belong to him.”

“I’m still really sorry,” Bob said, following Bucky out of the elevator and down the hallway.

Bucky hadn’t said another word while they rode upstairs. He knew himself well enough to know that nothing good would happen if he did try to talk to Bob at this point. Anger churned in his belly, not really aimed at anyone not even Bob because accidents did happen, and apparently someone had managed to catch Alpine before he made it outside again, but that didn’t keep him from feeling it. Sam and his kids were adorable and Bucky didn’t fit there with them. Not with this anger, not with the depression he fought with so often. It had been an impossible dream and he shouldn’t have pretended it was an option for so long. Not when it made it hurt more now that he accepted reality.

“Bucky?”

“Just go back to the apartment,” Bucky said, handing his keys over as he stopped in front of 912, of course it was Mrs. Wilson’s apartment. “I’ll get Alpine and be right there.”

Bob took the keys and nodded, his face when Bucky finally looked at it showing his remorse. He waited until Bob disappeared in the apartment before he knocked on Mrs. Wilson’s door, waiting impatiently to have his cat back in his arms. He needed every bit of reassurance he could manage right then, even though he hadn’t actually lost anything, it still felt like he had. The future maybe, a future where he might have someone to come home to, someone to hold, and someone who might depend on him. Right now he only had Alpine who needed him, and he’d let the cat down.

Mrs. Wilson opened the door carefully, her attention down and to the side as she tried to block Alpine from dashing through the door. Bucky was ready for the attempt and caught the cat sneaking under the woman’s foot and scooping him up to his chest. Alpine wiggled until he realized it was Bucky holding him and then he started purring loud enough anyone could hear him and head butted Bucky’s chin.

“Hey buddy,” Bucky said, already feeling better as he wrapped Alpine up in his coat. He turned his attention to Mrs. Wilson. She was a short, chubby woman with iron gray hair she let bounce up naturally in a short style, but half wrangled with a scarf tied across her forehead. Today's scarf featured happy snowpeople waving and dancing. “Thank you so much Mrs. Wilson. He’s a real escape artist sometimes.”

“It was no problem, Mr. Barnes,” Mrs. Wilson said, smiling like she knew a secret until she leaned in and lowered her voice to share. “Actually he sat right in front of my door meowing his fool head off until I let him in. He turned out to be a very well mannered cat actually. I thought he might be yours, but I wasn’t sure so I made the flyer.”

Of course he did. Bob didn't _accidently_ do anything, this had been a set up from the get go. Bucky slumped a little harder, anger gone now that Alpine was doing his best to make biscuits into his jacket, little paws kneading like crazy while his tail swished happily. Mrs. Wilson was a good neighbor, quiet and respectful, even if she did spend an awful lot of her time pressed up against the peep hole in her door watching everyone else's comings and goings. She'd caught Rumlow from 712 harassing Sharon from 905 and put a quick stop to it, smacking him in the head with her umbrella and chasing him all the way to the stairwell. And nobody's packages disappeared under her watch.

“Wow,” Bucky said looking at his cat again and then over at his apartment, Bob was going to have to cut it out. There were too many ups and downs already in Bucky's life. “Usually he aims right at the stairwell trying to get outside and eat all the grass he can stuff in his face.”

“Oh lordy, it’s too cold out for that,” Mrs. Wilson shivered theatrically at the thought, but Bucky couldn’t help agreeing with her, not wanting to imagine Alpine trapped outside overnight in this weather. “Speaking of which, come on inside. I just finished a batch of sweet potato cookies. They’re Sam’s favorite.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to bother you-”

“Nonsense, you bring your scrawny butt in here this instant,” Mrs. Wilson insisted, throwing her door open and taking Bucky by the elbow to draw him inside her cozy apartment without giving him a choice. It was decorated a lot more conservatively than Bob’s attempt, but most of the items looked old and homemade, well loved but used. It was very warm, so Bucky put Alpine down again to slip his coat off.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” Mrs. Wilson said, bustling off to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky said, the last of his unease draining away at the kindness. Apparently the entire Wilson clan had a direct line to his emotions. No one had affected him so much since he’d made it back from overseas. It was as if he’d been numb that whole time, and finally he was starting to feel some of the good things again.

“Call me, Paula, dear. We’ve been neighbors for almost five years now,” she called from the kitchen where she rattled plates around trying to get everything sorted. She appeared again a moment later carrying a tray with a plate of cookies and two mugs of coffee. “Would you prefer milk, honey? I can’t drink it myself, but the kids still like a bit now and then.”

“No thank you, Mrs- Paula,” Bucky said self-consciously. He’d never been good at calling his parent’s friends by their first names even when they asked him to. To hide his nerves, he took a cookie, it really was still warm from the oven and took a cautious bite, then a much bigger bite. “This is fantastic!”

Paula smiled wide, showing a familiar looking gap in her front teeth. “Thank you very much! My old Walter loved them too,” she briefly looked a little sad, and Bucky wondered how long Walter had been gone, but she perked up nearly immediately, a sly look to her as she continued, “Now, Bucky, it is 'Bucky' right?”

Bucky nodded, his mouth stuffed with his second cookie. They were cut in the shape of hearts and stuffed with raisins and chocolate chips. The sweet potato made it sweet but not overly, and the texture was more cakey than crumbly. He loved them too. 

“Sam came back talking all about you the other day, apparently you made quite the impression,” she said, laughing at whatever look managed to cross his face, but it was a kind laugh that invited a chuckle out of Bucky too. “My Samuel is a sweet boy, but he works too hard.”

“Well, he has an important job,” Bucky started, managing to resist the urge to run his fingers over the bump still on his head. Thankfully the swelling had gone down. While he watched cop shows like the rest of everybody else, he didn't really know anything about the actual job. Though he doubted Sam did as much sleeping around and or solved a tidy murder every week.

Waving him down, Paula took a cookie from the platter and bit into it, taking a sip of her coffee. “Nothing’s more important than family,” she said, blotting her lip with a pristine napkin. “Now, I got my great grandkids already, but a woman my age wants to see all her grandkids settled down and happy.”

There was a fair chance this was going somewhere Bucky wasn’t prepared to take it.

“Samuel has some faults, I’m not blind,” Paula continued, lasering Bucky with a focused look that Sam must have either studied or also been pinned with to get it down so good. “He’s impetuous, has a temper, he’s a workaholic, and he has a hard time letting other people in. But I honestly think the right person could help even him out. Bucky, are you the right person?”

Definitely somewhere Bucky wasn’t prepared to go. He felt his face flush in a way that had nothing to do with the coffee he’d just snorted up his nose. “Um, I mean, it’s uh-” he couldn’t have been more nonsensical if he’d tried. The Sam she described wasn't what he'd built up in his mind at all. Her Sam was much more close to the guys at work, to Bucky when he was planning out the wiring of a new building. He didn't know what to do with this new information.

“I’m not asking if you’re going to marry him and live happily ever after, though I wouldn't mind that either,” Paula said leaning forward and putting her hand on Bucky’s knee to get him to look at her. “I’m just saying I haven’t seen him with that light in his eyes like when he was telling me about meeting you.”

“I. . . I’d like to be the right person,” Bucky started, his voice cracking like he was going through puberty again. That bit of hope surged up his chest again, and he didn't have the energy to both squash it down and keep pretending everything was fine. “I’m not sure I’m it right now, but maybe?”

“That’s good enough for me, Mr. Barnes,” Paula said, tapping him and standing up. “Why don’t you take that platter with you and feed some to that strapping young platonic friend you got spending the holidays with you?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky said, picking Alpine up to tuck under one arm while he picked the plate up with the other. She saw him to the door and patted him on the butt as he crossed the threshold. 

Inside his own apartment, Bucky slid the plate onto a bare spot on the coffee table and put Alpine up on the top level of his tree. He didn’t look over at Bob who was sitting and making a gingerbread house with all the trimmings. He put his things away in the closet, resolving to get his good stuff out more often. If nothing else he’d fit in better with the group when they went out to eat or to events; they all looked like models out of a magazine with Bucky as their smudged shadow background. He found he wanted more than that now.

Pausing at the back of the sofa, Bucky dropped his hand on Bob's shoulder and spoke before Bob could, “So, I’m not as mad as I was, but I still just want some space, okay? I'll talk to you in the morning.”

He had a lot to think about.

He didn’t sleep well, a combination of pushing himself out of his comfort zone, showing off his hand to strangers, Paula’s confidence in him, and Bob’s ability to magic things with a snap of his fingers brought on some truly vivid and strange nightmares. He dreamed of his capture again, the cruel faces of the people who tortured him and the hopelessness that consumed him. He couldn’t remember losing his arm, maybe a blessing but maybe a curse, because his imagination was more than capable of coming up with several different scenarios, each one worse than the last. In one, Jim stood above him kitted out with a bone saw and plastic apron to protect his holiday sweater.

He’d prefer that though, to what came after, nightmares of his arm turning on him, destroying everything he cared about. He saw it wrap around Sam’s throat, squish Alpine into the pavement, and punch straight into Bob’s stomach releasing gushes of chocolate syrup. Everyone else laughed, Bucky just stood there horrified, wondering how he was ever going to get all the stickiness off his hand. He remembered every embarrassing thing he’d ever done and his mind amplified it, every time he ever felt angry his mind let the rage free. He’d spent a lot of time wallowing in depression, but now it was one of the tar pits sucking him down, phantom hands grabbing his feet and pulling.

He woke often, tried to turn and find a more comfortable place in bed, got up to drink some water straight from the bathroom faucet, glared at the ceiling, put the pillow on his face to drown out the Christmas carols he would swear played in the living room but didn’t utter a peep when he jerked the door open. Alpine slipped in during one attempt to catch Bob doing weird things, and clawed up Bucky’s pant leg for attention. Bucky picked him up and went to the window, stroking the cat while they both watched the snow fall and the sky start to lighten with dawn.

He woke up again, and for real in the late afternoon.

Everything hurt. His mouth was dry, his eyes ached and his skin and flesh where it met metal burned with an inflamed itch. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth and spit, and finger combed his hair back into a high ponytail that would keep all the loose bits out of his face. His gut ached, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since the cookies late yesterday evening.

Alpine pawed at the door, making those little chirping noises he made when he wanted attention. Bucky opened the door, bending to rub his hand down the cat’s body once, patting a little at the base of his tail, then he straightened to head toward the living room. Bob was still wearing green pajamas and gestured proudly at Bucky's entrance. The gingerbread house had become a castle, four floors and a drawbridge taking up the entire coffee table. There was even a little ‘Bucky’ standing in front of one of the windows.

“I need some more space,” Bucky said, cutting off anything Bob was about to try to wow him with. He’d pulled on his ratty old hoodie that was comfortable and warm, ready to escape in a moment. “I’m gonna go find a Chinese place, maybe get a little shit faced, and then I’ll come back and if you want we can rethink your strategy.”

“Sure,” Bob agreed, though he did look a little relieved at the fact Bucky was still willing to play ball. “I watched this movie last night, and I really think it could work for you and Sam. How do you feel about dalmatians?”

“No, not Sam,” Bucky said, bending to lace his boots so he didn’t have to figure out what to do with his face. He’d made his decision and he was going to stick with it. “Sam’s out. We’ll have to start over.”

“But why?” Bob asked, rising from the couch to walk closer to Bucky. He wrinkled his nose at the boots and snapped his fingers instantly fixing the holes and worn out insulation. “You like each other! You’re perfect for each other!”

“No such thing as perfect,” Bucky said, finishing with his boots and unsure whether to say ‘thank you’ or tell Bob off for messing with his stuff without asking first. “You meet someone and if you think they’re worth it, you work hard to get along with them. I don't think I'm ready for someone like Sam, but that's okay. Someone else will come along. Promise me you won’t interfere in Sam’s life anymore.”

“It’s not interfering,” Bob protested.

“Whatever it is, cut it out. Sam and his family aren’t a part of this, and if you can’t deal with that, then I guess you’ll need to find someone else to spend Christmas Eve with tomorrow,” Bucky said, though he didn’t want to mean it. Bob was good company, funny even, and he still wasn’t sure what the deal was. Did Bob have friends he’d rather spend the holidays with? He should ask, but it would have to wait until he got back. “Do we have a deal?”

“All right, I promise not to interfere in Sam's life anymore,” Bob agreed slowly, backing away with his hands up is a pacifying gesture. “Sam’s out. Are you sure you don’t want company?”

“No thanks, I just need to get my head on straight,” Bucky repeated, stomping his feet a little to settle them deciding his was pro newish boots. He might even still be able to feel his feet by the time he got to the buffet. “I’ll see you later. Do not let the cat out again.”

He left before he could overthink anything. He took the stairs, anxious and wanting to get a little energy out before he walked over to his favorite restaurant. He normally ordered delivery, but he knew they had a great buffet and his favorite beer on tap. Maybe he ate too much, he definitely drank too much, which was why for some reason he decided to take the long way home. It should have been a pretty walk, lonely while he broke fresh snowfall with his footprints, a nice and quiet experience to really rake himself over the coals.

Instead he heard shouting in one of the alleyways and instinctively turned to see if someone needed help. He was a big enough guy, he usually didn’t even need to flash the upgraded arm to get some punk to back off. He made it halfway down before he stopped, there wasn’t anyone there, but something had definitely caught his attention. There was a big construction dumpster to his right fit under a scaffolding and to his other side was a stack of pallets. Bucky stopped again, nearly holding his breath to listen, but he didn’t hear anything else. Maybe it had been a cat. He turned around to leave and that was when a body hurtled down and crashed into the pallets.

“Holy shit,” Bucky yelled, stepping to the side so he could gawk upwards and try to guess how far the guy had fallen. The building was tall, but the scaffolding only went up half way, it could have been anywhere in here. He tried to get his phone out of his pocket, and only then realized he’d left it at home charging. They guy groaned grabbing Bucky’s attention again as he started tossing broken pieces of plywood aside.

“Are you okay? Where did you even come from?” Bucky asked, still drunk but feeling less so with the adrenaline coursing through him. He finally moved everything far enough away to help the guy to his feet, and that’s when he realized who it was. “Sam! What the fuck, man?”

“Bucky?” Sam asked, dazed and little out of it as he tried to get his balance. He moved well enough that nothing was broken showing that even if the pallets hadn't been a comfortable landing zone, they'd apparently done well enough. He threw his arm over Bucky’s shoulder without asking and leaned into him enough that they both staggered toward the mouth of the alley. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

“What, but what?” Bucky wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist and off they went, lurching slightly from side to side to join the trickle of people still out and about that late at night. If anyone noticed them they would just think the two of them had had a couple too many.

Bucky let Sam take the lead, because even concussed as he probably was, he still apparently know where he wanted to go and that was far more than Bucky could say. Even after everything, Bucky could admit that it felt good to hold the other man that close. They passed under a street light and it was bright enough for him to look over. “What happened? You need to go to the hospital,” he said, trying to dig his heels into the soft mush of snow and ice to get them headed the opposite way. Not that he knew where the hospital was, he just knew how unlikely it was that was where Sam was taking them.

Sam was badly bruised and actively bleeding from three different head wounds. The hand Bucky held over his shoulder was swollen and showed defensive marks. His other hand he kept protectively near his belly, either because it hurt or to ease up an injury to his rib cage. His jeans were ripped and his nicely shaped thigh was also bleeding from a long tear.

“I hope you’ve had a tetanus shot recently,” Bucky said, avoiding a jogger and her large german shepherd by stumbling them into the street. Luckily there was a lull in traffic and they didn't end up as street pizza before he got them back up near the storefront.

“Tetanus, what? Man, shut the hell up. Act natural,” Sam said, trying to straighten a little though that only brought their bodies closer together. “Here, just come here and try not to blow it.”

“Blow what-mmm”

They were kissing. Sam had leaned back against the wall separating the bookstore door from the cheese bar door and had pulled Bucky into him, spreading his legs so they’d fit snugly together. Bucky wouldn’t have known a great kiss from the worst one in that moment. All he knew was that Sam’s mouth was warm, despite whatever he’d been through that night he smelled amazing, and the thigh between his legs might be the place he died. They kissed for a minute, Bucky more than willing to keep making out despite the gap between the back of his hoodie and his jeans that was letting cold air in.

“Put it back in your pants, Romeo,” Sam panted, though confusingly he didn’t actually take his hand off Bucky’s ass to let him get any room. He kept cutting his eyes from side to side as people passed them. “I just needed to make sure we weren’t being followed.”

“Followed?” Bucky repeated, at least a little bit of his brain coming back online as the hurt of being used got past all the good emotions stirred up by kissing the man he definitely still had a crush on. Even if Sam wasn't actually interested in him, he still felt like _someone_ needed to take care of Sam. “Sam, what is going on? And we still need to get you to the hospital.”

“No hospital,” Sam said, visibly upset at something even if he still took the time to wrap his hand around the strings of Bucky’s hood to pull him close for another quick kiss. “I go to the hospital, boss finds out I was working off the clock, then I end up riding a desk until Memorial Day. No, ain’t happening.”

Reeling from the mixed signals, Bucky actually shook his head trying to keep up. He wished he hadn't drank so much since he was pretty sure he should argue more with Sam's decision to not go seek help. However, at this point, all he could do was follow Sam's lead. If Bob was there, he could have snapped them right to the ER. If he were just a little more coordinated, he'd push Sam back against the building to make out for the next while.

Sam eased them back to the sidewalk and more gingerly slipped his arm over Bucky’s shoulder. They started off again, slightly more steady this time. Bucky let it go, he didn’t know what he should do except that he was worried about Sam and someone would need to help him if he weren’t going to help himself. “Sam, what’s going on?” he asked one more time, keeping the volume low so even if someone passed by close they wouldn’t have overheard.

“I had a CI disappeared on me. Good guy, wanted to get his life straight just needed a little help to do it,” Sam answered finally, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice either. “I did a lot of leg work looking for him, but it wasn’t enough. Boss said I had to drop it, move on to actual paperwork inducing police work. She said junkies were never the most reliable people, maybe he’d still turn up.”

Bucky didn’t like where this was going, but Sam’s grip on him was only getting tighter as his voice showed his stress. 

“Well he did turn up, frozen stiff in some fancy corporation’s shrimp delivery, and I’m going to find out who’s responsible, and I’m going to make them pay.”

“Okay, so that explains some backstory, but what happened tonight?” Bucky continued asking, jerking as Sam took a left turn he wasn’t expecting. His own head was starting to hurt at this rate, and he wished he'd have taken another glass of water before he'd left the restaurant. “And where are we going now?”

“My place,” Sam answered, pointing forward with the hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I live up there in the old Brown Building.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, hiding his grimace. They'd strayed quite a ways from his decent neighborhood. He couldn't believe Sam chose this place on purpose. “Well, that’s a nice-”

“It’s a shithole. I know it. But I pay Nana's rent and this place gets the job done for me,” Sam grunted, steering them around a pile of garbage spilling out from the alley. 

At the front doors he let go of Bucky to find his keys and stuck one in the door, turning it twice until he could pull it open. Not only were there not holiday decorations, but there didn't seem to be any working lights in the entryway. It also smelled. Bucky followed him in and sent a thankful prayer that the elevator was cordoned off with caution tape and a giant DO NOT USE sign. He really didn't want to die in this building. 

“Wait where do you think you’re going?” Sam asked.

“With you,” Bucky answered, only then realizing that Sam had stopped and that he’d plastered himself to Sam’s back. “You might have a concussion and someone needs to help you clean all this up.”

Sam snorted, rolling his shoulders and putting some distance between them as he turned and climbed three steps backward. “Okay, but you should know I don’t put out on a first date,” he said, though the fact that he was rubbing the side of his head with pain took most of the amusement out of the statement.

“I just want to help,” Buck assured him, staying behind Sam on the four flights up in case he lost his balance and fell backward. Even just walking up the stairs, Bucky could hear TVs and music blaring, people yelling or laughing, dogs barking, and other signs of families and living.

“Uh-huh, I bet you just want to help,” Sam muttered as he turned down a hallway and leaned heavily on a door about halfway down. He picked a different key from the ring still in his hand and turned one lock before he chose a different key to unlock the second. He pushed the door open and gestured Bucky to follow him.

The apartment wasn’t the worst Bucky had ever been in. Sam kept it neat, had some nice furniture and knick knacks, but nothing could save the water stains on the ceiling or drywall beginning to sag. The wallpaper was a hideous shade somewhere between puke green and poop brown and there wasn’t anything on any of the walls to try to cover it, no art no photos, nothing. There was a musty smell, but it wasn’t enough Bucky could easily pinpoint where or what it was.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Sam said, swaggering a little as he toed off his shoes, put his holstered weapon in a lockbox, and then collapsed on the couch covering his eyes with one hand. “I feel like shit.”

“You don’t look much better either,” Bucky said under his breath, and then louder, “Where do you keep your med kit?”

“Big one’s in the kitchen, cabinet under the microwave.”

Deciding not to comment on the fact Sam apparently got in enough trouble to require multiple first aid kits, Bucky went to fetch the one in the kitchen. In there at least, it looked like what he might have expected from Sam. There were pictures of him and his family taped to all the cabinet doors, and the refrigerator was covered with hand drawn pieces by Jim and Jody. If the rest smelled like old wet socks, at least the kitchen smelled clean and a little lemony. He found the kit and brought it back out to Sam.

“It’s been a while since I patched anyone up,” Bucky said, remembering back to the last time Steve got thrashed in an alleyway before his growth spurt. He set the kit down next to Sam, but he sat across on the coffee table, wishing the light was a little better when he tried to get a visual assessment of all the scrapes and cuts. “You might have to talk me through this.”

“S’fine, I’m used to it by now,” Sam answered, sitting forward and unzipping the bag. He handed Bucky a flashlight like he knew exactly how crappy the lighting was, and then a handful of antiseptic wipes. “Start at the head and we’ll work our way down.”

The head wounds actually weren’t bad at all, Bucky finally was able to see with the flashlight clenched in his teeth. They were basically superficial scrapes that only bled a little more when Bucky finished scrubbing them with the wipes. To make up for it, he gently dabbed them with a little numbing cream. Sam had his eyes closed, but it didn’t matter how Bucky moved his head, Sam would lean into the touch as long as Bucky would let him. His goatee hair pricked a little at Bucky’s palm, but his skin was soft and Bucky got a little lost at one point noticing how Sam's eyelashes fanned with his eyes shut.

“So if you’re so used to this, how many times have you been pushed out of a window to crash into a bunch of pallets and take a guy you barely know home to lick your wounds?” Bucky asked as he tried to corral this discarded wipes and trash to one side so he wouldn’t pick one up my accident. “Take off your shirt.”

“Often enough. Usually it’s Misty patching me up. You’re a lot nicer than she is,” Sam said, struggling out of his coat and then grimacing as he pulled his shirt up from the bottom and over his head.

A nice patch of fuzzy hair centered in the middle of Sam’s chest, thinning out a bit to the sides and then traveled straight down to his navel and disappeared under his waistband. Bucky would have liked to watch it a bit longer if his attention wasn’t immediately captured by the vivid bruise blossoming across Sam’s left ribcage and the spotty color of older bruises that covered nearly everything else.

“Holy shit,” Bucky said, reaching forward though he managed to stop himself just short of touching. The main injury that presumably happened less than an hour ago must hurt like a motherfucker, but the evidence that Sam had been fighting through repeated body blows meant Sam must have worked up a pretty high pain tolerance.

“You should see the other guy,” Sam joked weakly, twisting to stare out the window so he wouldn’t have to meet any of Bucky’s accusations. “It’s a tough job, sometimes things get physical.”

“You’re reckless,” Bucky said, biting down on some of the other things he wanted to say. He didn’t know Sam well enough for more than guesses, but he would bet money Sam was the type to put everyone else first even when it resulted in him getting hurt like this. 

“Now you sound like Misty,” Sam said with a chuckle, and then groaned as the movement jostled something. He bit his lip and finally probed at the spot, pressing down hard enough with his fingers that a grunt escaped and his feet scraped across the thin carpet as he moved them automatically looking for some relief. He sighed and slumped back, “They’re not broken this time. Maybe the ribs are bruised, but I’ll be good to go again in a day or two.”

There wasn’t a lot Bucky could do. He didn’t know how to check for broken ribs, so he had to take Sam at his word. Bending over closer he rubbed more of the numbing gel over the whole area, going slow and trying to keep his touch as light as he could. “She’s your partner? Misty?” he asked, faltering for just a second when Sam put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder before he continued. “Where was she tonight?”

“At home with her husband and kids hopefully,” Sam said, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s coat in his fist when Bucky got to the most painful part. “And this don’t have anything to do with her.”

“Well somebody should be out there with you if this is the result of your off duty crime fighting hobby,” Bucky was feeling much more alert, though he remembered it would still be awhile before all the alcohol made it out of his system. “Give me your hand.”

Sam put his hand in Bucky’s metal one without hesitation, briefly moving his fingers to feel the difference in texture. His knuckles weren’t quite busted, but they were dirty, swollen, and there were a couple of cuts that showed red. Bucky took his time cleaning them, propping the flashlight between his cheek and his shoulder as he went over every finger. If this was the only chance he got to hold Sam’s hands, then his slightly fuzzy mind was determined to enjoy it. Whatever had happened tonight, Sam had fought back before he landed at Bucky’s feet.

“I did a background check, you know,” Sam said, his head low and awful close to Bucky’s.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, finishing one hand and picking up the other. He’d never thought about it, but he couldn’t blame Sam after the way Bob had just inserted them into his life. Despite the condition of the rest of the apartment, at least it was warm, and he’d started to sweat with his hoodie on, hopefully Sam wouldn't think that there was any more to his discomfort than that. "What's that mean?"

“Yeah, you check out,” Sam said, moving his hand from his own knee to settle on Bucky’s. It spanned the width, his fingers spread and his thumb catching on the inseam there. “Hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana, college graduate of Empire State, enlisted in the army, prisoner of war, released, returned the forgotten son of the military but chosen for an at the time secret medical procedure that turned out to be the next level of human limb replacement. Including several citations of your own research.”

“Yup, that’s me,” Bucky sighed, finding a couple of butterfly bandages just to be thorough over one legitimate cut across a knuckle. It sounded so easy when it was listed out like that with none of the transitions, none of the pain, none of the uncertainty involved. 

He could barely hear the passing cars outside, the noise drowned out by the ancient heating system. It would be all too easy to pretend it was just him and Sam with no one else in the world, no kids, no nana, no well meaning friends, no bad guys, just them. Bucky knew he couldn't, not when he was just figuring out how he'd spent so long satisfied with the idea of future happiness instead of trying to find it there in the present. He was what Sam had said, no better but at least no worse.

“Bullshit,” Sam said, pulling his hand away from Bucky’s ministration to put his thumb right in the dimple of Bucky’s chin to tilt his head up. His gorgeous brown eyes caught Bucky’s and refused to let go. “You co-own an up and coming construction business with your childhood best friend before your parents moved you back to Shelbyville, you’re a decent, quiet neighbor, apparently a devoted cat daddy, and even though you ate all my cookies, you were nice to my nana and my nephew and that goes a long way.”

“Paula is a gossiper and a matchmaker, huh?” Bucky asked, blinking away the sudden onslaught of emotions threatening him. Forgetting the good things was pretty much the status quo in his brain at this point, and having someone who hadn’t known him since forever point them out somehow made the difference this time. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know who Bob is, because that man doesn’t show up on any of the normal searches, and he damn well was not your roommate, because I found those records. Next time just introduce him as ‘John Doe’ it’ll be just as suspicious,” Sam said, rolling his eyes and smiling. “And I don’t know why after nearly five years of could have been meetings, you suddenly pop up in front of me three times in a row.”

“I don’t know why,” Bucky said, finally really thinking about how unlikely it was that he would just happen to be passing by at that exact moment that Sam took a swan dive into the relative softer than pavement landing of those pallets. Bob definitely had some explaining to do. He didn’t know why Bob had picked Sam, why Sam kept allowing Bucky to get closer and closer, but he knew he couldn’t just leave it at that. He’d been fooling himself earlier about walking away. “I don’t know why, but I’m glad I did.”

Sam studied him intently, and Bucky honestly felt like something inside him was being weighed and measured to decide if he met some exacting standards. Whatever they were, after another moment, Sam nodded and let go of Bucky’s chin so he could examine his knuckles and Bucky’s handiwork. He grunted and flexed briefly to make sure the bandages would hold and then nodded in satisfaction.

“Not too shabby. You train as a field medic?” Sam asked finally, changing the subject from an impossible conversation.

“No, nobody wanted a sniper that close to the action,” Bucky shook his head and gestured with his finger up and down. “Still got one more. Drop your pants.”

“Honey, you say the sweetest things,” Sam said, standing up with more energy than he’d showed before. He ended up standing between Bucky’s spread knees, his belt buckle parallel and too close to Bucky’s face. They both seemed to realize their position at the same time and despite the earlier flirting Bucky went beet red and Sam coughed, trying to take a step backwards but bumped into the couch.

Maybe Bucky was a little courageous.

Reaching up, Bucky covered Sam’s fumbling hands with his own. “Let me,” he said, slipping underneath to work at the stubborn belt. Sam left his hands there, not getting in the way necessarily, but present in the way Bucky bumped against him or how he traced his thumb along Bucky’s wrist. He got the belt loose and through the loops, sliding it open and then with his good hand trembling, slipped the button open and pulled the edges of Sam’s jeans open until the zipper started dropping. Tugging at the outside of the denim, he pulled the jeans down to Sam’s thighs.

The only thing he could think of though, was Sam’s dick. Right there. In a tidy bulge. His briefs were dark blue, cut with short legs. Bucky couldn’t make out an outline or anything, but his imagination could do the work for him, especially when the dick moved slightly and he jerked to look up, embarrassed he’d been caught staring. Taking a deep breath, he focused back on the reason Sam needed to lose the pants in the first place.

The cut had bled a lot, dripping down past Sam’s knee, but it was all tacky and he couldn’t see any fresh. Bucky cleaned it up first, concentrating on gentle swipes with the wet wipes, but grimaced when he realized how long the cut was. At least it was basically clean enough, he’d been worried about finding grit or something else he’d need to pick out with the tiny medical grade tweezers. He'd been good so far, keeping his dinner down, but that might have sent him over the edge.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, taking hold of Sam’s thigh to twist it a little differently in the light. “Does this one need stitches? It’s got to be hurting you.”

Warm fingers landed on Bucky’s chin again, pulling his face up to meet Sam’s eyes. “If you think for one second that I’m thinking about anything other than your mouth, you are seriously underestimating how pink your lips look right now,” he said, his voice clearly husky and working in a deep octave. “We’ll close it with some glue and slap some butterflies on it. It'll be good enough.”

“Sam,” Bucky breathed, turning his face into Sam’s palm. He felt so safe like this, sure that Sam would take care of him and everything would be okay. Something he hadn't really felt since before the Army, sitting with his mama on their porch. “Sam, I want. I don’t know. It’s just that I do, but I’m not that good at this.”

“It’s still pretty endearing,” Sam said, urging Bucky up to his feet to meet him halfway in a kiss. “Let’s finish this up and then move this into the bedroom.”

Bucky nodded his agreement, finding a small tube of skin glue and handing it to Sam, who took care of his own leg with neat efficiency while Bucky watched. He chewed his lip, wanting to touch, but also wanting to get flat on a mattress as quickly as possible too. Sam didn’t bother tidying up the med kit before he started shooing Bucky toward the bedroom.

“Go on, make yourself comfortable. Restroom’s in there too, just let finish up with this out here, and I’ll be right in,” he said, one hand on the small of Bucky’s back the other pointing the way to the only other door in the small apartment.

The bedroom was kind of sad too, bare walls, box springs sitting on the floor and boxes instead of a dresser, but it smelled nice, and the bathroom was kept as clean as the kitchen. Sam had a lot of products lined up along the sink, and even more in a small medicine cabinet that was clearly an afterthought to the design. Washing his hands, Bucky pulled his hoodie over his head and tried to tame his hair into something less wild. The excited anticipation was making the butterflies dance in his stomach, and he hoped Sam kept thinking he was endearing because it had been a while since he'd taken anyone to bed. He couldn’t remember being as nervous as he was just then. The chances that this was a one night stand were low, but they were still there, and Bucky couldn’t help worrying about it. He wanted this to work, he didn’t want another failed notch on his bed post. Not knowing what else to do, he went to look out the bedroom window at the view of the bricks of the building next door. He easily believed that Sam had given up the good apartment for Mrs. Wilson, she was a good lady, but he wondered if she knew where Sam was living. He leaned his forehead against the window, hoping to cool off a little since h e didn’t want to strip too far down just in case, and he couldn’t settle down enough to sit on the bed.

It was a good thing he didn’t.

Sam rushed in, clothes disappointingly back on his body. Ignoring Bucky, he went to the closet and started pulling boxes down until he found what he needed, which apparently was a small ankle holster he started strapping to his booted foot propped up on his bed. He finished that and glanced up, visibly startled to see Bucky watching him as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in his apartment.

“Oh, shit,” Sam said, straightening as he winced and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. He didn't even try to meet Bucky's eyes. “Sorry man, I got a call and I got to go.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky said quietly, the insides of him hollowing out in disappointment. He should have expected something like this, the universe wouldn’t have given him such a nice early present. “I’ll just get out of your hair.”

He grabbed his hoodie, going fast but trying to seem like he wasn’t in a hurry as he walked straight for the front door. Any anticipation he'd felt earlier was gone, he just wanted to be home with Bob and his cat. Sam reached for him but stopped just short of grabbing Bucky’s sleeve. Bucky wished either one of them could have tried harder. He wished Sam had someone going with him, those ribs were going to break if he fell out of another building.

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” Sam said, following him to the living room. He did seem genuinely upset, but then his phone buzzed taking his attention until he scowled and typed a quick message back. He was in a hurry when he opened the door for Bucky, “This isn’t what I was hoping for.”

“Yeah well, you gotta do what you gotta do,” Bucky said, leaving first without looking back.

"I’m guessing the noodles and beer didn’t work?” Bob asked when Bucky made it back to his apartment.

The long walk had soaked his hair, but he hadn’t noticed how miserable he felt on the outside when he felt so awfully on the inside. It wasn’t even Sam’s fault really, or at least with the information he had, he couldn’t second guess Sam’s intentions of rushing back out when he’d just gotten somewhere safe. He was worried for Sam, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. They weren’t friends, not really, even supposing that the chemistry between them led to anything, that was all in the future and Sam needed to take care of what he needed to take care of now.

“Not really,” Bucky said, stripping out of most of his clothing and leaving the sopping mess in a pile by the washing machine. He’d had enough time to think and he’d decided that Bob wasn’t to blame for this. He and Sam had probably passed each other all the time and never noticed, living so close together in the city. He told Bob everything that had happened, and stroked his hand down Alpine’s back with the cat came over to run against his leg.

“Well, that sucks,” Bob said when Bucky had finished. Halfway through he’d given Bucky a glass mug frothing with an eggnog that actually tasted good unlike every other kind Bucky had ever tried. “We can do better. I’ve still got a day to spend with you until the magic goes back.”

Bucky thought about it and shook his head. “How about we just enjoy ourselves?” he asked, sliding his mug onto the coffee table and sitting back. “I’ve figured a few things out, and I think I’m ready to actually try to change my situation instead of just wallowing in it. And Christmas really isn't the best time, everyone's already stressed out about something.”

Bob smiled wide and shifted on the couch so he could reach over and pat Bucky on the back. “Good for you!” he said, then reached for the remote control and held it up. “You want to watch a scary movie? They based it off some of my best work, and I’ve loved Adam Scott since _Parks and Rec_.”

“Yeah, that sounds like fun,” Bucky said, pulling his favorite fuzzy blanket out of the basket to the side of the couch.

The next day, after sleeping on the couch with Bob and Alpine because apparently he had previously unknown issues with demented and murdous angel tree toppers, Bucky woke up feeling good and knew exactly how he wanted to spend Christmas Eve. Bob agreed and off they went to a local unaffiliated soup kitchen and warming station to volunteer for the afternoon. Since they weren’t attached to any church, they were always hurting for donations and volunteers. By the time they got there, they were both loaded down with donated food and goods from people who passed them and wanted to help too.

When they made it to _Thunder Against Hunger_ Thor vaulted the counter and tackled Bucky to the ground, laughing and rubbing his beard into Bucky's neck. Kicking his legs to attempt escape, Bucky felt a thousand times lighter than he had before Bob showed up. Thor's exuberance never failed to lift him up a little too. He finally managed to roll Thor off him and took Val's helping hand up.

"Barnes!" Thor bellowed, holding up both his hands for Bucky and Val to haul him up. He hugged Bucky again once he was on his feet and then easily swooped up the bags Bucky had been having trouble with earlier. "Cornbread mix is exactly what this stew needed. Get these boxes back to Loki and see what kind of magic can be wrought."

Rolling her eyes Val took the bags, though she also managed to give Bob an interested once over, and disappeared into the back of the converted bowling alley. Thor quickly put himself between Bob and Val's retreating figure, his jealousy often shown but usually low key. How he, his adopted brother and Val made their relationship work, Bucky would never know. He couldn't even manage a one night stand with a single person.

"Hey Thor," Bucky said, gaining his friend's attention back from where he'd been trying to subtly rise up on his toes to be as tall as Bob. "This is my friend, Bob. We're here to help too, put us to work."

"Excellent! Bucky if you want to help Val on the line, I'll take Bob to supervise the donation center," Thor said, herding Bob away from the soup line which wound around both sides of the large cafeteria and almost back outside.

Frowning, Bucky grabbed Thor by the arm. "Be nice, man," he said, raising both eyebrows.

"Of course, of course," Thor shrugged away Bucky's concern. "Bob will charm everyone that comes in, and we could use a few extra dollars, donations were down this year, and I need you to keep an eye out for the Guardians. Rocket took off with a rice cooker over Thanksgiving and then rigged it to explode in someone's tent. Gross. Looked like maggots everywhere. Enjoy your stew ma'am."

The woman tip-toed past Thor, her eyes wide as she clutched her tray closer to her chest.

"So, anyway, keep an eye out for the Grandmaster. He won't stop coming on to Loki, and keeps trying to sneak into the kitchen. Let's go Bob."

Bob looked at Bucky over his shoulder while Thor dragged him away, and Bucky couldn't help but laugh, enjoying the fact that for once, he wasn't the confused one in their pairing. Bucky took one of the kitchen's ball caps and wore it backward to keep his hair out of his face and the food. Val joined him, Scott Lang and his daughter, and a couple of other volunteers on the line. He ended up handing out the chocolate cake at the end, spending just a couple of seconds talking to anyone who wanted to before they went to sit down.

The Guardians did come through the line a couple of hours later, rowdy but in good spirits. Rocket managed to get three pieces of cake while Bucky tried to listen to Drax's story about a dog who danced for her supper. Nothing got too out of hand until Loki brought out another sheet pan full of cornbread and Grandmaster appeared out of seemingly nowhere to slide his hand over Loki's backside.

Loki, much like Valkyrie, didn't actually need any backup, took the empty pan and bashed it over the man's head. Wincing, Bucky helped separate them, taking the Grandmaster by his arm to walk him out the front door. He kicked the pan to the side, restaurant quality and heavy, but he didn't feel sorry for the old creeper at all. Grandmaster had a reputation of touching first and asking permission never. 

Outside, he nodded at Bob, who looked a little over his head with the crowd of people surrounding him trying to get his attention and make a last minute donation. Bucky left him to it, rounded up several of the utensils Rocket had pocketed and went back to check the kitchen. Loki was muttering murderous threats, but that was normal as far as Bucky's experience went, so he went back to his job on the line.

Around dinnertime, Thor brought Bob back inside and pried his fingers off the overflowing bucket. A new set of volunteers came in to serve the food and Bucky joined the rest of the group at a table to the side, enjoying the company and the impromptu caroling, and he didn't think about Sam once. He didn't think about Sam more than a dozen times, wondering what he was doing and if he would have enjoyed taking the time to volunteer here at the kitchen.

Bucky's feet hurt, his shoulder ached at the metal seam, but he was happy. 

"What are you grinning about?" Bucky asked Bob as they walked to the apartment after dinner. He was pleasantly stuffed, and content with life. The wind was down, the sidewalk clear, and Bob a warm presence at his side.

"Just seeing you with some of your friends," Bob said, hooking his arm comfortably across Bucky's shoulders. "You seemed really happy. It was good to see."

Bucky stretched his legs a little to match Bob's stride and thought about it for a moment. He should have done this from the beginning instead of throwing a pity party the second Steve took off with Peggy. It wasn't like he was specifically jealous of either one of them, more of what they had. But he had Thor and his people, he could have called Nat and worked something out, or even his sisters had sent him a tablet to video chat with them. He'd had options, he'd just ignored them in favor of feeling sorry for himself.

"I am," Bucky agreed, stopping on the sidewalk to face Bob. The future was bright and he wasn't going to ignore it anymore. "I'm lucky to have them and to have you. Thanks for everything, man. I'm sorry you wasted your time with me, when I already had everything I needed."

"Time spent with you is never wasted," Bob said, pulling Bucky into a tight hug. He smelled like sugar cookies, and the hug felt like Bucky was surrounded by all the best things in life. "If you're having a good holiday then I'm glad you called me."

"That's so touching, fellas, but I'm afraid your Christmas is about to get less glad."

Bob's arms around him tensed, but he let go when Bucky pulled away to face the voice. He saw the gun first, the two men standing in the mouth of the alley second, and the last man holding a gagged and struggling Sam third. There were still people on the street, but nobody close enough, nobody who looked like they could help even if they would. Sam didn't look so good, slouching into the other man's body, his face covered in grit and sweat.

"Don't try anything stupid now," the first man said, bekoning them into the alley. He was big, not the size of Bob, but close, and held himself like he knew how to fight and how to handle the gun. "Just come with us for a chat and your friend will be fine. _Don't come_ and well, I can't promise anything."

Whatever Sam had left to do last night, it apparently hadn't worked out in his favor. Bucky held his arms out slightly, glad he was wearing gloves and hesitantly walked toward the alley. He felt Bob behind him, keeping close, and wondered what the chances were he'd be able to snap them all away to safety. The two men with guns gestured them to lead, but when they got a little farther so that Sam could recognize them he started fighting again, managing to headbutt the man holding him while trying to yell through the tape over his mouth.

Bucky tried to rush towards him, but Bob was pushed out of the way and a hand grabbed him roughly by the hair. "Would you settle down?" the bad guy asked, jerking the barrel of his gun into Bucky's neck. He waited until he had Sam's attention and then struck Bucky a glancing blow. "You pitch a fit, he gets a bruise. You want to keep acting a fool?"

The glare Sam sent their way could have stripped paint in better circumstances. Bucky blinked away his pain response, falling back on old training to keep his breathing regular and his mind as clear as possible. Sam was too vulnerable for him to try anything yet, the third man angry over the blood dripping from his nose so that he kept his gun trained right at Sam's gut. From what he could tell, the three of them were used to working together. They'd be quicker and more dangerous since Bucky didn't know what either Bob or Sam would do in this situation. All he could do was wait and see if a better opportunity presented itself.

"All right," Bucky's guy said, pushing him forward with the hand still wrapped in his hair. "Now you're gonna be good little boys and come along without a fuss. We're going to have a talk with Detective Wilson here, and then you'll all be on your way in time to beat Santa home."

Doubting very much that it was going to be that simple, Bucky couldn't see any other choice at the moment. Bob fell in step beside him, but he shook his head slightly when Bucky looked up at him. Confused, Bucky opened his mouth to ask, but shut it again as Bob darted his eyes up to Sam, who was leading the way, and then back. Bob was clearly upset, wringing his hands together in front of him as they continued deeper into what was quickly becoming a maze of construction and warehouse buildings.

The bad guys finally settled them on boxes, Bucky sitting between Bob and Sam while one gunman kept watch over them and the other two stepped away to have a private conversation. This wasn't good, if that comedian on TV was right about anything, secondary locations were the worst place to be when being kidnapped. If these were the guys responsible for the murder of Sam's informant, then they didn't have any leverage to keep themselves alive. Bucky patted Sam on the thigh and turned his head just enough to talk to Bob from the corner of his mouth.

"Anything you can do?" he asked softly, watching as Bob's eyebrows lowered and he tried snapping his fingers.

"No," Bob rumbled back, voice barely loud enough for Bucky to hear the words in his low octave. "I promised not to interfere in Sam stuff. This is apparently Sam stuff."

Bucky cursed under his breath and could have kicked himself. He'd made Bob promise and apparently now they were all going to die because Bucky had some trust issues. These guys didn't look like run of the mill street thugs, they were dressed decently, their weapons were well maintained, and they hadn't given anything away during the walk. He didn't see a lot of ways this would end happily for them.

"All right, here's what's going to happen," the man who'd grabbed Bucky and apparently was the leader said, coming back to stand in front of them. "Sammy boy here needs to learn a lesson. Since he won't take our money like the other good little kids in his precinct, he'll have to learn the hard way. We've been watching him for a while, but it wasn't until you two came along we found anything to make him behave. Now, I wanted to snatch one of those beautiful children you care so much about, too bad I got outvoted."

Beside him, Sam breathed hard, still struggling to get his hands free, but Bucky could only be glad that no one had gone after Sam's family. He'd take a bullet or two to keep those kids safe, he just wished Bob hadn't gotten swept up in all of this. 

"So what we're gonna do is break his legs," the man gestured at Bob first, and then pointed to Bucky. "And break his arms. We're gonna finish what we started with your ribs Detective Wilson, and then you're gonna drop this investigation and be thankful the boss has a policy against killing cops. If you're nice, we'll dump you out by the main road so someone can call the ambulance for you. Don't say we never gave you anything for Christmas."

Sam was yelling through his tape again, so Bucky decided to help him and give voice to what he figured was the main gist. "You're a son of a bitch," he said, catching the man's eyes and holding them. "And Sam is going to beat your ass down if you ever go anywhere near those kids."

"Looks like we have a volunteer. Get him up," the man said, holding out a hand for the second guy to hand him a bat he'd picked up from the corner. Then the two other goons grabbed Bucky and pulled him up despite Sam's protests and Bob trying to pull him back.

Bucky's heart raced, pain wasn't anything new to him, but he didn't trust these assholes to keep their word. Even with as little time he'd actually spent with Sam, he knew, he absolutely knew that Sam would never let the first murder go, let alone this intimidation. His head was full of cotton, and he knew someone was speaking to him, but he couldn't understand the words. He did understand the swift kick that took him down to one knee. One man took his arm and twisted it back into an arm bar, holding it up and straight out to the side while the talker took his position with the bat raised.

Sam had stood, only to have the third man punch him solidly in the gut, folding him down again. Bob pleaded, apparently powerless in the face of his promise not to interfere in Bucky and Sam's life, but was easily ignored by everyone. Bucky let his hair fall into his face, trying to find that peaceful place inside that came before the violence. 

"Feel free to scream if you want," the first man said, swinging the bat around with loose abandon before he lined up his shot. "Nobody that can hear you would be willing to call for help for you."

"Just get it over with," Bucky said, trying to manufacture confidence he didn't actually feel. He braced himself, curling his right hand into a fist as he turned his boot on the loose grit on the floor trying for a little traction.

The bat swung down and smashed into Bucky's elbow. Into his left elbow.

The man yelled in surprise as the force of the impact travelled back up that bat, jerking the grip out of his fingers. 

"Guess you've never heard of vibranium," Bucky said, using the surprise to jerk his arm free and punch the second man hard, sending him flying into the first man who was still staring at his hand in shock. He whirled with his metal hand up to deal with the third man.

"Nice try, you freak," the third man said, gun up and pointed at Bucky's face. "Guess you've been naughty this year."

It happened in slow motion, Bucky flinched away, but there was no way he'd be able to avoid the shot. He'd tried his best but it wouldn't matter, and he wasn't going to make it to have the chance to change his ways. Someone pushed him hard and he skidded across the floor, landing on the other two bad guys at the same time a shot fired. Bucky scrambled up in time to catch Bob and barely cushion his fall. 

"It's okay, you're gonna be fine now," Bob said, blinking up at Bucky and ignoring the blood seeping out to ruin his white dress shirt. He reached up, patted Bucky's face and then slumped, empty where before he'd been so full of life.

That might have been the end of it again if Sam hadn't thrown himself into the fray at that moment when Bucky was lost and the bad guys were finding themselves again. A gun skittered past him, and all four of them started shouting at once, but Bucky couldn't take his eyes off his friend. Bob shouldn't be so still, so quiet, he shouldn't be there at all. Bucky wiped his eyes, but even as he scrubbed away his tears, the haze didn't fade from his vision.

Bob was glowing, a gold mist surrounded his body, and Bucky's surprised shout got everyone's attention again. He fell back on his butt, scooting away as the mist began to dissipate, fading from the brilliant gold into duller red and green sparks that drifted away and started taking Bob with them. It was like Bob was fading.

"What the fuck?" the asshole with the bat said, stopping his arm mid motion of swinging at Sam's back.

It shocked Bucky out of his stupor, rising to take the bat and snap it over his thigh. He took the pieces and banged them against the outside of the first man's head sending him crashing to the floor. Sam took out the knees of the second one and then knocked him out with another kick to the head. The final man tried to run, but Bucky threw the pieces, tripping him and sending him head first into a load bearing iron beam. 

Turning back, Bucky saw there wasn't anything left of Bob, not even an imprint in either the dirty floor or the magical dust. He was just gone.

"Cut me loose, man," Sam said, breaking into Bucky's mourning. Part of the tape covering his mouth had come loose enough to make himself understood. He backed up into Bucky's peripheral, tugging his hands while he kept an eye on the groaning bad guys. "Bucky, you okay? Can you cut me loose?"

"I'm - I," on automatic, Bucky pulled his pocket knife out and cut through the zipties securing Sam's hands. He turned back and asked, "What about Bob?"

"Who's Bob?" Sam asked, his big eyes scanning Bucky from head to toe. "Did you get concussed again?"

Lost, Bucky just nodded and followed Sam's lead to secure the scene and wait for help to arrive. If he took a little less care throwing the third man in the pile with the other two, Sam didn't seem to notice. No one said anything about his friend who had disappeared before their eyes.

Somehow his apartment seemed even more empty than usual. Bucky flipped the deadbolt and set his keys down, dreading what he already knew he’d find. There were no lights glowing along the white walls, no soft carols, and he could already see the kitchen island was bare once again. After three days, he’d already become used to the chaos, and then absence hit him with a resounding punch to the gut. He slumped into the kitchen, ignoring the shadows from the living room.

The police questioning had taken hours. His throat was sore and his heart hurt. He thought Sam could tell something was wrong, but they were never allowed a moment alone. As far as he could figure it everything that had happened happened, but anyone else with any memories of Bob had had them wiped. It was as if the big perfect man had never existed.

And Bucky wanted to cry again.

“Here, kitty kitty,” Bucky said, folding himself down to sit against the kitchen counter. He reached up to grab the treat bag and shook it just in case, but he could usually convince himself the cat came out of love and obedience. Alpine skidded around the kitchen island and climbed up on his lap to paw at his face. “Hey kitty, did you have a good day? Give you a scare when all the decorations came down?”

The apartment was getting more depressing the longer he sat there in the dark. He was going to miss Bob, wherever he ended up, he hoped Bob was having a good time with his friends. Alpine nosed the bag, demanding his tribute and Bucky gladly gave it, cursing a little when the cat chomped on his finger. He sent the next treat skidding across the floor for Alpine to chase and pounce on. He really should have expected all Bob’s things to disappear when he did, but he hadn’t and this was the final blow to his holiday cheer.

“Fuck that,” Bucky said out loud, Alpine chirping to add agreement. He owed Bob better. He owed himself better.

Bucky pushed himself upright and turned some lights on. He’d always kept his apartment neat, but he’d added touches from here and there, the photos of people he wanted to remember. He went to the closet in the spare room and pulled everything out until he got the two small boxes of decorations. He couldn't remember why he hadn’t put them up the last couple of years, must have felt like too much work when nobody but him would see them.

If nothing else he knew that even if it was just him, he was worth the effort. The first box had been stuffed full of tinsel and string lights. It was way too late to get a tree, but he could hang the lights around the windows or on the mantel. The second box was also stuffed full of his share of the ornaments he and his sisters had made as kids. He picked up a crooked popsicle stick reindeer that had Rebecca’s name scrawled in a childish hand. They had made all seven of Santa’s reindeer, plus Rudolph that year, and when they’d all grown up and moved away, they’d been able to pick the one they wanted to keep.

He hung the ornaments up along a gold garland of tinsel he stretched across between the top of the TV and the bottom of the mantle. The lights he started at the outlet by the closet and strung it on the wall, over the windows, and found it stretched far enough down the hallway to reach his room. He liked the idea of a landing strip, even if he doubted Santa would swing by this year. He picked up his phone and found a playlist he sent on low volume through the speakers hanging in the corners. 

There were a few other knick knacks, a Santa wearing the Empire U colors and things he was still trying to find a spot for when someone knocked on the front door. It wasn’t a loud knock and he almost missed it the first time, pausing to listen for it to come again. When it did, he set the star he was holding down flat and hurried to the door. 

It was Bob. It had to be Bob, he’d be the only one with a reason to come back, and Bucky dearly wanted to hug and thank him for everything even if it hadn’t ended like either of them had expected. He pulled open the door with a smile.

“Hey, can I come in?”

A soft buzz woke Bucky up from a spectacular dream, but he knew he didn’t want to wake up so he burrowed his face back in the pillow hoping the noise would go away. The noise continued, gaining some volume as the phone jittered off the soft cloth and onto the wood top of his nightstand. Someone grumbled behind him, the body wiggling until eventually an arm passed over his shoulder to reach the phone on the nightstand.

“‘Lo?” Sam asked, voice sleep rough and sexy enough that Bucky perked up a little, his dream bleeding over to real life.

“Yeah, sure, a sec,” Sam agreed, flopping his arm over so the phone smacked Bucky on his cheek. He was pressed along Bucky’s back, skin to skin except for where they’d both pulled their boxers back on for bedtime. “It’s for you, some guy, Steve. Hang up and kiss me.”

Bucky took the phone, turning over so he could see sleepy Sam trying to seduce him without enough energy to keep his eyes open. “Hi Steve,” he said softly, brushing his hand over Sam’s head until his eyes closed for real and he fell back asleep. They’d been sharing a pillow since Alpine had jumped up to steal Sam’s. “You’re really going to have to figure out time zones one of these days.”

“Sorry Buck,” Steve said, not sounding sorry at all. “But it is after noon there. How should I know you’d just had a nooner?”

“Please never say nooner again, I do not need to know and what you and Peggy get up to at lunch. Also it’s four am here, so again, figure out the time zones,” Bucky yawned, his jaw cracking in the middle of it. They’d stayed up talking about everything from their childhoods to their current work projects, both of them tired after all the adrenaline from earlier but unwilling to be the one to chance ending their time together. Finally, he’d just asked Sam to stay. It was Christmas Eve, but he said if Sam had somewhere to be early they could set an alarm.

Sam had quickly told him that there was no where he’d rather be than Bucky’s bed, and then there hadn’t been a lot less talking before they fell into an exhausted but satisfied sleep. Bucky wasn’t even mad Steve had called to wake him up, not when it meant he had proof of his sleepover and he could spend the next couple of minutes watching Sam sleep next to him. There hadn’t been any time for that before when he’d fallen asleep first.

“I don't care about time zones! Tell me why a strange man answered your phone out of a dead sleep at four in the morning!” Steve yelled, lasting slightly longer than Bucky had guessed before he freaked out. In the background Peggy suddenly took notice, asking what was going on while she came closer to the phone.

Smiling and settling back down with the comforter over his arms to chase away the chill. “Tell Pegs ‘hi’ for me,” Bucky said first, knowing that Steve would be literally dancing with curiosity it had been so long since Bucky had liked anyone let alone brought them home. If he couldn’t torture Steve a little bit, then life wasn’t worth living.

“Bucky, I swear to god-”

“Hold your horses, Stevie, I’ve had a weird week,” Bucky said looking quickly to see if Steve’s outburst had bothered Sam, but he’d continued to sleep his eyelashes still, even as his chest rose and fell in rhythm. He had both hands curled into loose fists tucked under his chin, and Bucky didn’t think he’d ever be so still in his waking hours. “His name’s Sam and I like him a lot, and everything is good.”

“Sam, huh?” Steve asked, his voice a little farther away probably because he’d put Bucky on speaker phone for Peggy’s benefit. It was a time saver they often used because everyone knew they shared everything anyway. “How’d you meet him?”

“Forget about that, what’s he look like?” Peggy interrupted.

“His grandma lives next door to me, also we fought crime together and I got shot,” Bucky answered, only because he wanted to hear Steve squawk and then talk over him. “Peggy he is gorgeous. He’s got the tall, dark, and handsome down perfect, and god, his thighs, okay? I want to sit on him-”

“Okay, okay, okay!”

Pleased with himself, Bucky waited until Steve finished a hushed back and forth with Peggy over how he shouldn’t freak out and be supportive of Bucky’s decisions, because he obviously hadn’t died and the bar really was that low at this point. Beside him, Sam mumbled sleepily and crossed his arm over Bucky’s stomach, worming his cold hand between Bucky's back and the matress. For their first attempt to sleep together, Bucky thought it was going pretty well.

“But you’re being safe, right?” Steve said loud again over Peggy.

“Gee, Dad, are we talking about condoms or organized crime?” Bucky teased, willing to think about the funny aspects of the situation now that the near death part was far away in the rearview mirror. A morbid sense of humor had taken him far in life. Steve sighed heavily, but he really should be used to it by now. “Steve, it’s fine. Sam’s a detective, the bad guys are in jail, and we’re invited to Nana’s brunch in a few hours, and that lady can cook.”

“Okay,” Steve said, elongating the word into extra syllables. “Okay, Buck, if you’re happy, we’re happy.”

“I’m real happy. I think we both are,” Bucky said, stroking down Sam’s back again. “I gotta go Steve. I’ll call ya later, sometime around eleven tonight.”

“Wait, is that my time or your ti-”

Bucky hung up on him before he could finish the question, hoping Steve would wonder about it all day in revenge for waking Bucky up so early. This time, he hid the phone under his pillow knowing that would muffle any attempts to call back so he could go to sleep again. He tangled his legs with Sam, wincing only a little at the cold feet before he managed to fall back asleep.

Kisses woke him up, soft and bristly trailing up and down his bare stomach. It was light outside the window, but not too bad with a gentle snow falling. He’d pulled the comforter up to his chin and had to pick it up and peek underneath to make sure Sam staying with him last night hadn’t been a vivid figment of his imagination. Sam twisted his head, looking up at Bucky for a brief moment before he went back to his single minded kisses.

“Sam, we gotta, god you’re good at that,” Bucky muttered, frantically patting the mattress around his head for his phone. When he found it, he saw it was already nine fifteen. They were supposed to meet with Paula in half an hour, and he had fifty-six amassed text messages from his and family. Forty-two were from Steve. 

One was from an unknown number, and he clicked it open first, wondering. It was an extreme close up of half of Bob’s face clearly smiling and excited. The time stamp was twelve oh one in the morning, smack in the middle of when Sam had started rolling his hips into Bucky with intent. Bucky saved the photo and backed out of his texts, feeling better now that he knew Bob was okay.

Sam climbed up Bucky’s body, his head poking up from the covers with a wicked smile on his face that immediately regained all of Bucky’s attention. “What are you trying to say, baby?” he asked, curling the ends of Bucky’s hair in his fingers and tugging briefly. “You trying to turn down a blow job from yours truly?”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky whined, too much of his blood flowing south. “You’re a monster to make me choose between your mouth and Paula’s fritters.”

“Some boyfriend,” Sam said, rolling his eyes through the open smile on his face. “You only want to date me for my family. Little kids to take to Frozen 2 and a Nana right next door to crib cookies from.”

Grabbing Sam around his chest, Bucky rolled them over so Sam was flat on his back and he loomed up. Sam blinked at the sudden change in positions, but settled back willingly and spread his legs in a most inviting way Bucky really couldn’t resist. “Just you,” he said, dipping his head down for a morning breath kiss, excited when Sam licked up into his mouth. “The rest is a bonus. Boyfriends.”

Bucky couldn’t help grinning like a fool. He thought it’d been obvious Sam cared for him just as much as Bucky wanted Sam after all the excitement was over yesterday, but it was nice to have confirmation. Nice to have something to say when Steve inevitably cornered him again. It was fast sure, but Bucky was confident in Bob and his magic, and it just felt right. Whatever else happened in their relationship, this was one unforgettable holiday.

“Now don’t go getting a big head,” Sam said, grabbing Bucky’s cheeks to pull them out and smoosh them back together. “Get off me so we can get ready to go next door. You’re not gonna make me late for this smorgasbord.”

He couldn’t resist one more kiss, leaning heavily into Sam as he tried to record every sensation to his memory. Then Bucky rolled off, landing feet first on the carpet so he could get in the bathroom first, ignoring Sam’s angry threats about using all the hot water. Though in the end, they shared a quick shower, Sam helped him put his wet hair up in a bun, and they were ready to leave with five minutes to spare.

“Hey,” Sam said, tugging Bucky’s sleeve before he could slide open the lock at the front door. He pulled them back, crowding Bucky against the closet door to press against him. There was a serious look on his face. “Thanks for everything. I think maybe I was in a rut and didn’t realize it. I couldn’t sleep last night after you passed out, I just kept thinking about how I would have felt if something bad had happened to you yesterday because of me.”

“Not because of you,” Bucky insisted, reaching for Sam’s hips to hold on, hoping to provide some comfort.

“Consequences as a result of my loose interpretation of department policies,” Sam continued, shifting his weight to one arm against the door so he could trail his fingers across Bucky’s eyebrow. “I love my job, but maybe I can balance it better. I'm not a perfect man, but my family deserves better. And I’d like to give you better.”

“Sam,” the name escaped Bucky like a prayer, tugging Sam closer for another brief kiss. 

Sam cleared his throat, stepping away to wipe quickly at his eyes before he held his hand out for Bucky to take. “C’mon, let's go eat. I think someone promised me a nooner?” Sam asked, smiling wickedly as he tugged Bucky out the door.

  


**Author's Note:**

> [come check out the winterfalcon community on dreamwidth](https://winterfalcon.dreamwidth.org/)! We're into comics, movies, tv, and other things!


End file.
